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“‘Mr. Salmon, I should think it a great pity to lose a valuable officer like yourself, even to do good to others. There’s a hard ring about that cough I don’t like, an’ if you really think it’s going up this bit north, why, I don’t mind putting the ship in her course again.’

“Well, the mate thanked him kindly, and he was just about to give the orders when one o’ the men who was at the masthead suddenly shouts out–

“‘Ahoy! Small boat on the port bow!’

“The cap’n started as if he’d been shot, and ran up the rigging with his glasses. He came down again almost direckly, and his face was all in a glow with pleasure and excitement.

“‘Mr. Salmon,’ ses he, ‘here’s a small boat with a lug sail in the middle o’ the Atlantic, with one pore man lying in the bottom of her. What do you think o’ my warning now?’

“The mate didn’t say anything at first, but he took the glasses and had a look, an’ when he came back anyone could see his opinion of the skipper had gone up miles and miles.

“‘It’s a wonderful thing, sir,’ ses he, ‘and one I’ll remember all my life. It’s evident that you’ve been picked out as a instrument to do this good work.’

“I’d never heard the fust mate talk like that afore, ‘cept once when he fell overboard, when he was full, and stuck in the Thames mud. He said it was Providence; though, as it was low water, according to the tide- table, I couldn’t see what Providence had to do with it myself. He was as excited as anybody, and took the wheel himself, and put the ship’s head for the boat, and as she came closer, our boat was slung out, and me and the second mate and three other men dropped into her, an’ pulled so as to meet the other.

“‘Never mind the boat; we don’t want to be bothered with her,’ shouts out the cap’n as we pulled away–‘Save the man!’

“I’ll say this for Mr. McMillan, he steered that boat beautifully, and we ran alongside o’ the other as clever as possible. Two of us shipped our oars, and gripped her tight, and then we saw that she was just an ordinary boat, partly decked in, with the head and shoulders of a man showing in the opening, fast asleep, and snoring like thunder.

“‘Puir chap,’ ses Mr. McMillan, standing up. ‘Look how wasted he is.’

“He laid hold o’ the man by the neck of his coat an’ his belt, an’, being a very powerful man, dragged him up and swung him into our boat, which was bobbing up and down, and grating against the side of the other. We let go then, an’ the man we’d rescued opened his eyes as Mr. McMillan tumbled over one of the thwarts with him, and, letting off a roar like a bull, tried to jump back into his boat.

“‘Hold him!’ shouted the second mate. ‘Hold him tight! He’s mad, puir feller.’

“By the way that man fought and yelled, we thought the mate was right, too. He was a short, stiff chap, hard as iron, and he bit and kicked and swore for all he was worth, until at last we tripped him up and tumbled him into the bottom of the boat, and held him there with his head hanging back over a thwart.

“‘It’s all right, my puir feller,’ ses the second mate; ‘ye’re in good hands–ye’re saved.’

“‘Damme!’ ses the man; ‘what’s your little game? Where’s my boat–eh? Where’s my boat?’

“He wriggled a bit, and got his head up, and, when he saw it bowling along two or three hundred yards away, his temper got the better of him, and he swore that if Mr. McMillan didn’t row after it he’d knife him.

“‘We can’t bother about the boat,’ ses the mate; ‘we’ve had enough bother to rescue you.’