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The mate hastily swabbed up the water, and then lit the fire and put on the kettle; while the skipper stripped the sailor of his clothes, and flinging some blankets in front of the fire placed him upon them.

For a long time they toiled in silence, in the faint hope that life still remained in the apparently dead body.

“Poor devil!” said the skipper at length, and fell to rubbing again.

“I don’t believe he’s gone,” said the mate, panting with his exertions. “He don’t feel like a dead man.”

Ten minutes later the figure stirred slightly, and the men talked in excited whispers as they worked. A faint sigh came from the lips of the sailor, and his eyes partly opened.

“It’s all right, matey,” said the skipper; “you lie still; we’ll do the rest. Jem, get some coffee ready.”

By the time it was prepared the partly drowned man was conscious that he was alive, and stared in a dazed fashion at the man who was using him so roughly. Conscious that his patient was improving rapidly, the latter lifted him in his arms and placed him in his own bunk, and proffered him some steaming hot coffee. He sipped a little, then lapsed into unconsciousness again. The two men looked at each other blankly.

“Some of ’em goes like that.” said the skipper. “I’ve seen it afore. Just as you think they’re pulling round they slip their cable.”

“We must keep him warm,” said the mate. “I don’t see as we can do any more.”

“We’ll get under way again,” said the other; and pausing to heap some more clothes over the sailor he went on deck, followed by the mate; and in a short time the Swallow was once more moving through the water. Then the skipper, leaving the mate at the helm, went below.

Half an hour passed.

“Go and see what you can make of him,” said the skipper as he re-appeared and took the helm. “He keeps coming round a bit, and then just drifts back. Seems like as if he can’t hook on to life. Don’t seem to take no interest in it.”

The mate obeyed in silence; and for the remainder of the day the two men relieved each other at the bedside of the sailor. Towards evening, as they were entering the river which runs up to Littleport, he made decided progress under the skipper’s ministrations; and the latter thrust his huge head up the hatchway and grinned in excusable triumph at the mate as he imparted the news. Then he suddenly remembered himself, and the smile faded. The light, too, faded from the mate’s face.

“‘Bout that mutiny and attempted murder,” said the skipper, and paused as though waiting for the mate to contradict or qualify the terms; but he made no reply.

“I give you in charge as soon as we get to port,” continued the other. “Soon as the ship’s berthed, you go below.”

“Ay, ay,” said the mate, but without looking at him.

“Nice thing it’ll be for your wife,” said the skipper sternly. “You’ll get no mercy from me.”

“I don’t expect none,” said the mate huskily, “What I’ve done I’ll stand to.”

The reply on the skipper’s lips merged into a grunt, and he went below. The sailor was asleep, and breathing gently and regularly; and after regarding him for some time the watcher returned to the deck and busied himself with certain small duties preparatory to landing.

Slowly the light faded out of the sky, and the banks of the river grew indistinct; and one by one the lights of Littleport came into view as they rounded the last bend of the river, and saw the little town lying behind its veil of masts and rigging. The skipper came aft and took the helm from the mate, and looked at him out of the corner of his eye, as he stood silently waiting with his hands by his side.

“Take in sail,” said the skipper shortly; and leaving the helm a bit, ran to assist him. Five minutes later the Swallow was alongside of the wharf, and then, everything made fast and snug, the two men turned and faced each other.

“Go below,” said the skipper sternly. The mate walked off. “And take care of that chap. I’m going ashore. If anybody asks you about these scratches, I got ’em in a row down Wapping–D’ye hear?”

The mate heard, but there was a thickness in his throat which prevented him from replying promptly. By the time he had recovered his voice the other had disappeared over the edge of the wharf, and the sound of his retreating footsteps rang over the cobblestone quay. The mate in a bewildered fashion stood for a short time motionless; then he turned, and drawing a deep breath, went below.