hree bells we saw them getting a boat out by Pita's
house, and lo and behold! it was Tweedie, with the native pastor and a
divinity student named Henry to pull him. When they were close enough to
talk, he fell on his knees in the boat, though it was half full of bilge
and slopped all over him; and he besought Captain Coe, by all that was
holy, to stop murdering the innocent, and rattled on fast and scolding
like he was in the pulpit. We was to leave it to God, he said, and went
on like we was worse nor Afiola, the pitiful hound, like it wasn't his
own wife we was doing our damnedest to save.

Captain Coe let him have his say, and then he leaned over the ship's
side, holding to the starboard shrouds with one hand and taking the
cigar out of his mouth with the other, and told him, with a most
deliberate spit, as how he was going on with one every hour till Mrs.
Tweedie was brought back safe and sound, and when he used up them he had
aboard, how he was going to land for more. He didn't speak it particular
loud, and you might have thought he was talking what a hot day it was;
but there was that in his voice I've never heard before or since, and
you knew he'd live right up to every word he said. I guess the pastor
and the student understood a little English, for when Coe finished they
laid on to their oars like mad, and headed the old sieve for shore
again, Tweedie in the bilge and still protesting.

At two o'clock we turned off Sosofina, Afiola's aunt. We now had three
aloft, and as we rolled gently broadside on to the swell they'd swing
together and swing apart till you didn't care to look at them. That hour
from two to three was the very longest I ever spent in my life. It was
the hottest time of day and the sun beat down unmerciful, the pitch
running in the seams, and the awnings being stripped off to better fight
the ship, if need be. The steward passed round sardines and buttered
biscuit, and I recollect the Chinaman wolfing his right out of the can
and tipping it cornerwise to drink the ile. Bar Coe, he was the coolest
customer of the lot, which was the more remarkable, as he was a
mild-mannered man ordinarily, given to playing the China fiddle to
himself, and very obliging if you wanted fresh yeast or the way he
curried pigeon. Rau, the Belgian, with his hairy arms and stubby figure,
struck one somehow as being more in his element in so wild a business,
and you took his calm for granted, like a soldier serving a gun