hands fly faster.

The boat comes back against the wind and the great seas split on each
side of the prow.

The swimmers hear Corkey.

"Lordy!" he says. "I know I hit a man then with that right oar. I
felt it smash him. There! we're on him now! Bail, you moke! No
stopping, or I throw you in! Stop that bailing and catch that duck
there! Got him? Hang on!"

It is a wood-chopper.

This yawl is like a wild animal. It springs upward, it rolls, it
flounders. It is like a wild bronco newly haltered. How can these
many heads hope to get upon so spirited a steed? See it leap backward
and on end! Now up, now sidewise, now vertically!

But the swimmers are also the sport of the waves. They, too, are
thrown far aloft. They, too, sink deeply.

"There, I hit that man again, I know I did! Don't you feel him? They
must be thick. Come this way, all you fellers! I can take ye!"

The boat is leaping high. These survivors are brave and good.

The wood-chopper, with his wooden life-preserver, is clumsy getting in.
He angers Corkey.

"Bail, you moke! Let the other fellows fish for the floaters!"

It inspires Corkey, this frequent admonition of the boy. But the boat
cavorts dizzily.

"Bail, you moke! You black devil! Don't you forget it!" The oars go
fast and furious, often in the air, and each time with a volley of
oaths.

The wood-chopper has seized a man. It is another wood-chopper. There
are now four souls in the boat.

It leaps less like an athlete.

It has been half an hour since the Africa went down. There still are
cries. To all these, Corkey replies: "Come on! all you fellers that
has life-preservers!" But it is incredible that any more should get in
the yawl.

Nevertheless, one, two, three, four, five, six wood-choppers arrive in
the next half-hour, and all are saved. Tugging for dear life, Corkey
holds his boat against the wind.

"There!" cries the commander. "I strike him again!"

A wood-chopper this time grasps a floating man who can make little
effort for himself. A half-dozen pair of hands bring him aboard. He
sinks on a seat. The boat is now full. It leaps less lightly. The
commander is jubilant. He thinks himself safe. He returns to his
favorite topic, the mascot.

"You're from the Africa, ain't you? Bail, you moke! He-oh-he! Golly,
that was a big one!"

"Yessah!"

"You're Noah. Good name! Fine name! Where's Ararat? He-oh-he!"

"Never seed a-a-airy-