The willing crew answered him with a cheer, and Tom Tarbucket, a square-built, merry faced native of Savage Island, who was stripped to the waist, shouted out, amid the laughter of his shipmates—­

“Ay, ay, capt’in, we soon make pump suck dry if two Miss de Boos girl come.”

Robertson laughed in response, and then picking up a wooden bucket from under the fife rail, clattered down the companion way.

“Where are you, Otway?  Up you get on deck, and you too, steward.  The leak is taken up and ‘everything is lovely and the goose hangs high.’  Up you go to the pumps, and make ’em suck.  I’ll bring up some grog presently.”

Then as Otway and the steward sprang up on deck, the captain stamped along the cabin in his sodden sea boots, banging at each door.

“Come out, Sarah, come out Sukie, my little chickabiddies—­there’s to be no boat trip for you after all.  Miss Weidermann, I’ve good news, good news!  Mrs. Lacy, cheer up, dear lady.  The leak has taken up, and you can go on deck and see your husband working at the pumps like a number one chop Trojan.  Ha!  Father Roget, give me your hand.  You’re a white man, sir, and ought to be a bishop.”

As he spoke to the now awakened old priest, the two De Boos girls, Mrs. Lacy and Miss Weidermann, all came out of their cabins, and Robertson shook hands with them, and lifting Sukie de Boos up between his two rough hands as if she were a little girl, he kissed her, and then made a grab at Sarah, who dodged behind Mrs. Lacy.

“Now, father, don’t you attempt to come on deck.  Mrs. Lacy, just you keep him here.  Sukie, my chick, you and Sarah get a couple of bottles of brandy, make this bucket full of half-and-half, and bring it on deck to the men.”

As he noisily stamped out of the cabin again, the old priest turned to the ladies, and raised his hand—­

“A brave, brave man—­a very good English sailor.  And now let us thank God for His mercies to us.”

The four ladies, with Mina, knelt, and then the good old man prayed fervently for a few minutes.  Then Sukie de Boos and her sister flung their arms around Mrs. Lacy, and kissed her, and even Miss Weidermann, now thoroughly unstrung, began to cry hysterically.  She had at first detested Mrs. Lacy as being altogether too scandalously young and pretty for a clergyman’s wife.  Now she was ready to take her to her bosom (that is, to her metaphorical bosom, as she had no other), for she believed that Mr. Lacy’s prayer had saved them all, he being a Protestant clergyman, and therefore better qualified to avert imminent death than a priest of Rome.

Sukie and Sally de Boos mixed the grog, took it on deck, and served it out to the men at the pumps.

The carpenter sounded the well, and as he drew up the iron rod, the second mate gave a shout.

“Only seven inches, captain.”

“Right, my boy.  Take a good spell now, Mr. Allen.  Mr. Bruce, we can give her a bit more lower canvas now.  She’ll stand it.  Mr. Lacy, and you Captain Burr, come aft and get into some dry togs.  The glass is rising steadily, and in a few hours we’ll feel a bit more comfy.”