all sorts
of fruit-trees also flourish--the apple-tree especially yielding a rich
crop. We agreed that for a winter residence there could not be a more
delightful spot in England.

The following evening, the weather clearing, we made sail, the Dolphin
leading. As we stood out, we passed a fine large schooner--a fruit
vessel, I believe--which had put in here. Paul Truck hailed her as we
passed slowly by, and he found that he knew her master, who said that
she had put in to land her owner and his family, and that she was bound
up the Straits of Gibraltar. The very next night she was driven on
shore near the Lizard--either on the Stags or some other rocks--and was
dashed to pieces, all hands perishing.

The wind, though light, was sufficiently to the southward to enable us
to stand for Plymouth; but we kept close-hauled, that we might have a
good offing, should the wind shift to the westward, when it would be in
our teeth. Darkness was creeping over the face of the water. The
Dolphin was about two cables length ahead of us. We had just gone down
to tea, and Oliver was pouring out a cup for papa, when we were startled
by a loud shout uttered by Truck:

"A man overboard from the Dolphin!"

Oliver, in his agitation, let go the teapot, which was capsized. We all
rushed on deck, papa leading, and Oliver butting me with his head
behind.

"Where is he?" asked papa, running forward to look out. "Keep her as
she goes," he shouted.

The Dolphin was in stays, coming about, an operation she took some time
to perform. It was evident we should be up to the spot where the man--
whoever he was--had fallen into the water before she could reach it. We
peered through the gloom, but could perceive nothing amid the leaden
seas flecked over with snowy foam.

"Stand by to lower the boat; trice up the main tack!" cried papa.

"I see him, sir!" cried Ned and Ben, in one voice, pointing to a black
spot which appeared now in the hollow of the sea, now with the foam
curling round it.

"If it's a man, he's swimming well," cried papa.

"I do believe it's Jack!" exclaimed Oliver.

"Haul up the foresail, down with the helm, let fly the jib sheet!"
shouted papa.

At that moment a cry reached our ears, "Help! help!" The cutter was now
hove-to. While papa had been giving his orders he had been throwing off
his coat and waistcoat. No sooner did he hear Jack's voice than
overboard he sprang, striking out towards our cousin, who w