re, you, Sam Boulter, get right in
the stem and stand by there with that there box of matches. Keep on
lighting one and holding it up to let it shine out. Be careful and
don't burn your ringers."

A low chuckle rose from the oarsmen, followed the next moment by a deep
groan and a low muttering from the reviving man.

"Hah!" said the boatswain. "He's coming round now, and no mistake."

Just then there was a sharp scratch, a pale light of the splint of wood
stood out in the darkness, and mingled with a spluttering husky cough
came the voice of the half-drowned foremast-man.

"Here, easy there! What are you doing? Hah! Boat! Boat! Help!"

This was consequent on the gleaming match shining out before the poor
fellow's eyes.

"Steady there!" roared out the boatswain. "What are you singing out
like that for? Can't you see you are safe aboard?"

"Eh? Eh? Oh, thank goodness! I thought it was the schooner's lights.
That you, Mr Butters?"

"Me it is, my lad! All right now, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes; all right. But I thought it was all over with me that time."

"So it ought to have been! Why, what were you about? Did you walk
overboard in your sleep?"

"I--no--I--I dunno how it was. I suppose I slipped."

"Not much suppose about it," said the boatswain, as the man sat up.
"Here, I'll give you a dose that'll do you good. Take one of them oars
and pull."

"Oh no!" cried Poole. "The poor fellow's weak."

"'Course he is, sir, and that'll warm him up and put life into him. Tit
for tat. We've saved him from what the old folks at home calls a watery
grave, and now it's his turn to do a bit of something to save us."

"To save us, Mr Butters?" whispered Fitz, laying his hand on the
boatswain's arm. "Why, you don't think--"

"Yes, I do, sir. I'm thinking all the time, as hard as a man can.
Here, you'd better not handle me; I'm as wet as wet."

"But we shall soon get alongside the schooner, shan't we?"

"Well, it don't seem like it, sir. Wish we could! I should just like a
good old jorum of something warm, if it was only a basin of old Andy's
broth as he makes so slimy with them little round wet barley knobs. I'm
all of a shiver. Here, you number one, get up and I'll take your oar.
I don't like catching cold when I'm at sea."

"But surely they'll tack round, or something, so as to pick us up."

"Here, hi! You look alive there with another of those matches. You
don't half keep them going, so