panion, whom we bantered and teased, and led a sorry life at
school, should somehow in this time of peril take the lead over us, and
force us to behave in a way that could only have been expected of a crew
obeying the captain of a boat.

I bent forward to Bigley as we kept on with the regular chop chop of the
oars, making no effort to get nearer to the shore, only to keep the
boat's head level, and I whispered in his ear:

"Shall we get to shore again!"

"Yes," he said confidently; "only you two must do what I tell you. I
must be skipper now. Go on, you, Bob Chowne!" he roared. "Heave out
that water. Do you want me to kick you again?"

Bob whimpered, but he worked faster, scooping the water clumsily out and
throwing it over, the side, and, after he had done, and been sitting
crouched at the bottom, Bigley seemed to attack him again unkindly, as
if he were going to take advantage of his helplessness, and serve him
out for many an old piece of tyranny.

"Now, then," he shouted--and it seemed to be his father speaking, not
our quiet easy-going school-fellow, but the rough seafaring man who had
the credit of being a smuggler--"Now then, you, Bob Chowne," he roared,
"get up, and come and take Sep Duncan's oar."

"I can't," he groaned piteously, and he let himself fall against the
side of the boat. "I'm so cold, I'm half dead."

"Oh, are you?" shouted Bigley. "No you ar'n't, so get up and creep over
here."

"I can't," cried Bob again.

"Then I'll make you," cried Bigley fiercely, and lifting his oar out of
the rowlocks he sent it along the gunwale, till he made it tap heavily
against the back of Bob Chowne's head.

"Oh!" shrieked Bob, and I felt my cheeks burn, cold as I was.

"Now, will you come and work, you sneak?"

"I--I can't."

"Get up, or I'll come and heave you overboard," roared Bigley. "I won't
have it."

"Oh--oh!" sobbed poor Bob.

"Let him be, Big," I cried. "I'm not very tired."

"You hold your tongue," was the response I had in an angry tone. "You
be ready to give up your oar when he comes. Now, then, up with you, or
I'll do it again."

Bob Chowne groaned piteously and crawled forward.

"Why can't you let a fellow die quietly?" he sobbed out, and then he
crept over the seat where Bigley was rowing, so as to get to where I
still tugged at my oar in hot indignation.

"Die, eh?" shouted Bigley with a forced laugh. "Yes, you'd better.
Leave us to do all the pulling, would you? Oh