he net that trailed overboard. Steady, or we shall lose her!
Here, hold on, lads, and I'll get down into the boat and--haul away!"
he roared excitedly, as he had made out clearly what was entangled in
the net. "Quick, lads! quick! It's a man! It's--my word if it ar'n't
young Harry Paul!"

The net was drawn in steadily over the roller at the lugger's side, till
Penelly and the master could lean down and grasp the arms of the
drowning or drowned man, whom they dragged on board, and then, not
without some difficulty, freed from the net that clung to his limbs. He
had struggled so hard that he had wound it round and round him, and so
tight was it in places that, without hesitation, the master pulled out
his great jack-knife and cut the meshes in three or four places.

"You can get new nets," he said hoarsely, "but you couldn't get a new
Harry Paul. There's some spirit down in the cabin, Zekle. Quick, lad,
and bring the blanket out of the locker, and my oilskin. Poor dear lad!
he must have got tangled as he was swimming round. I'll break that
Zekle's head with a boat-hook for this job; see if I don't."

The threatened man, however, came just then with the blanket and
spirits, when everything else was forgotten in the effort to restore the
apparently drowned man. Mark Penelly worked with all his might, and
after wrapping Paul in the blanket and covering him with coats and
oilskins, some of the spirit was trickled between his clenched teeth,
and the men then rubbed his feet and hands.

"Get out the sweeps, lads. There's no wind, and we must get him ashore.
Poor dear lad! If he's a drowned man, Zekle Wynn, you've murdered
him!"

"I tell 'ee I didn't let no net trail overboard," cried the man angrily,
as he seized a long oar and began to tug at it, dropping it into the
water every time with a heavy splash.

"Don't stand talking back at me!" roared the master, seizing another oar
and dragging at it with all his might, "pull, will 'ee? pull!"

"I am a-pulling, ar'n't I?" shouted back the other, as the man and lad,
who formed the rest of the crew, each got an oar overboard and began to
pull.

"Yes, you're a-pulling, but not half pulling!" roared the master, as if
his man were half a mile away instead of close beside him.

Plenty more angry recrimination went on as all tugged at the long oars,
and the lugger began to move slowly through the water towards the little
harbour; but if Harry Paul's life had depended