“All ready, Jarl?”

“Ready.”

“A man overboard!” I shouted at the top of my compass; and like lightning the cords slid through our blistering hands, and with a tremendous shock the boat bounded on the sea’s back.  One mad sheer and plunge, one terrible strain on the tackles as we sunk in the trough of the waves, tugged upon by the towing breaker, and our knives severed the tackle ropes—­we hazarded not unhooking the blocks—­our oars were out, and the good boat headed round, with prow to leeward.

“Man overboard!” was now shouted from stem to stern.  And directly we heard the confused tramping and shouting of the sailors, as they rushed from their dreams into the almost inscrutable darkness.

“Man overboard!  Man overboard!” My heart smote me as the human cry of horror came out of the black vaulted night.

“Down helm!” was soon heard from the chief mate.  “Back the main-yard!  Quick to the boats!  How’s this?  One down already?  Well done!  Hold on, then, those other boats!”

Meanwhile several seamen were shouting as they strained at the braces.

“Cut! cut all!  Lower away! lower away!” impatiently cried the sailors, who already had leaped into the boats.

“Heave the ship to, and hold fast every thing,” cried the captain, apparently just springing to the deck.  “One boat’s enough.  Steward; show a light there from the mizzen-top.  Boat ahoy!—­Have you got that man?”

No reply.  The voice came out of a cloud; the ship dimly showing like a ghost.  We had desisted from rowing, and hand over hand were now hauling in upon the rope attached to the breaker, which we soon lifted into the boat, instantly resuming our oars.

“Pull! pull, men! and save him!” again shouted the captain.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Jarl instinctively, “pulling as hard as ever we can, sir.”

And pull we did, till nothing could be heard from the ship but a confused tumult; and, ever and anon, the hoarse shout of the captain, too distant to be understood.

We now set our sail to a light air; and right into the darkness, and dead to leeward, we rowed and sailed till morning dawned.

CHAPTER IX The Watery World Is All Before Them

At sea in an open boat, and a thousand miles from land!

Shortly after the break of day, in the gray transparent light, a speck to windward broke the even line of the horizon.  It was the ship wending her way north-eastward.

Had I not known the final indifference of sailors to such disasters as that which the Arcturion’s crew must have imputed to the night past (did not the skipper suspect the truth) I would have regarded that little speck with many compunctions of conscience.  Nor, as it was, did I feel in any very serene humor.  For the consciousness of being deemed dead, is next to the presumable unpleasantness of being so in reality.  One feels like his own ghost unlawfully tenanting a defunct carcass.  Even Jarl’s glance seemed so queer, that I begged him to look another way.