or, will you? Now, both together. Regular stroke. That's
better. And so's that," he said, as he scooped out the last few drops
of water with the tin pannikin, and finished off by sopping the
remaining moisture with a piece of coarse flannel stuff which he wrung
out over the side.

Bob and I did not speak, but tugged at our oars, as absurd-looking a
crew as was ever seen upon the Devon coast, while we kept looking
pityingly at poor Bigley.

Poor fellow! He had placed his arms one on either side, resting upon
the gunwale, and appeared to be hard set to keep his head up from his
chest. Then he had one or two violent fits of coughing, and ended by
sitting back in the bottom of the boat with a weary sigh and closing his
eyes.

"Look, sir, look!" I cried in agony, for I thought Bigley must be
dying.

"Well, I am looking at him, boy. He's coming round. I can't do
anything for him here, can I? Pull hard, you young swabs, both of you,
and let's get aboard. I don't know what folks want to have boys for."

We rowed hard, bending well to our oars, and after a few minutes I
ventured to speak again, for Bigley looked terribly ill.

"Do you think he's getting better, sir?" I said.

"Better, boy? Yes," he said, not unkindly, for I suppose my anxiety
about his son moved him. "He'll be all right when I've warmed and laced
him up with the rope's end. I'm going to make you all skip as soon as I
get you aboard and there's room to move."

"But he looks so ill, sir," I said, quite ignoring the rope's-ending.

"Of course he does, my lad. So would you if you had gone down as far as
he did, and swallowed as much water. Easy. In oars."

I did not know we had rowed so far, but just then the boat bumped up
against the side of the lugger, and old Jonas rose, took the painter as
he stepped into the bows, and handed it to Binnacle Bill, whose grim old
face relaxed into a grin as he saw our plight.

"What have you got, Master Uggles'on?" he said. "White seals?"

"Ay, something o' the sort," grumbled old Jonas. "Here, boys, on board
with you."

We needed no second order, but scrambled over the side into the lugger,
while, at a word from his master, Binnacle Bill unbolted the piece of
the lugger's bulwarks that answered the purpose of a gangway, and as, by
main force, old Jonas lifted up Bigley, the old sailor leaned down, put
his arm round the poor limp fellow, and lifted him on deck, where he lay
almost without motio