He had a name for each one as he hit him.  It was a game of “Tag, you’re it!” that made him master, in that moment of amazement, from the mere suddenness of it.  A man with less assurance and slighter knowledge of sailorman character might have been less abrupt—­might have given them a moment in which to reflect.  Cap’n Aaron Sproul kept them going—­did their thinking for them, dizzied their brains by thwacks of the pins, deafened their ears by his terrific language.

In fifteen seconds they had run the dingy into the surf, had shipped oars, and were lustily pulling away—­Cap’n Sproul in the stern roaring abuse at them in a way that drowned the howls of Mr. Butts, who came peltering down the hill.

But Hiram Look was even more nimble than that protesting seaman.

Before the little craft was fairly under way he plunged into the surf waist-deep and scrambled over the stern, nearly upsetting the Cap’n as he rolled in.

And Imogene, the elephant, a faithful and adoring pachyderm, pursued her lord and master into the sea.

Cap’n Sproul, recovering his balance and resuming his interrupted invective, was startled by the waving of her trunk above his head, and his rowers quit work, squealing with terror, for the huge beast was making evident and desperate attempts to climb on board and join her fleeing owner.  It was a rather complicated crisis even for a seaman, accustomed to splitting seconds in his battling with emergencies.  An elephant, unusual element in marine considerations, lent the complication.

But the old sea-dog who had so instantly made himself master of men now made himself master of the situation, before the anxious Imogene had got so much as one big foot over the gunwale.  He picked up the late-arriving Jonah, and, in spite of Hiram’s kicks and curses, jettisoned him with a splash that shot spray over the pursuing elephant and blinded her eyes.

“Row—­row, you blue-faced sons of Gehenna, or she’ll eat all four of you!” shrieked the Cap’n; and in that moment of stress they rowed!  Rowed now not because Cap’n Sproul commanded—­nor ceased from rowing because Mr. Butts countermanded.  They rowed for their own lives to escape the ravening beast that had chased them into the sea.

Cap’n Sproul, watching his chance, took a small wave after the seventh big roller, let it cuff his bow to starboard, and made for the lee of Cod Lead, rounding the island into the reach.  He was safely away and, gazing into the faces of the Portuguese, he grimly reflected that for impressed men they seemed fully as glad to be away as he.  They rowed now without further monition, clucking, each to himself, little prayers for their safe deliverance from the beast.

It was not possible, with safety, to cut across the reach straight for the main, so the Cap’n quartered his course before the wind and went swinging down the seas, with little chance of coming soon to shore, but confident of his seamanship.