“Madame Budd,” said Spike, in a hypocritical tone, “we are in great danger, and I shall have to ask you to change your seat.  The boat is too much by the starn, now we’ve got into deep water, and your weight amidships would be a great relief to us.  Just give your hand to the boatswain, and he will help you to step from thwart to thwart, until you reach the right place, when Biddy shall follow.”

Now Mrs. Budd had witnessed the tremendous struggle in which so many had gone overboard, but so dull was she of apprehension, and so little disposed to suspect anything one-half so monstrous as the truth, that she did not hesitate to comply.  She was profoundly awed by the horrors of the scene through which she was passing, the raging billows of the Gulf, as seen from so small a craft, producing a deep impression on her; still a lingering of her most inveterate affectation was to be found in her air and language, which presented a strange medley of besetting weakness, and strong, natural, womanly affection.

“Certainly, Captain Spike,” she answered, rising.  “A craft should never go astern, and I am quite willing to ballast the boat.  We have seen such terrible accidents today, that all should lend their aid in endeavouring to get under way, and in averting all possible hamper.  Only take me to my poor, dear Rosy, Captain Spike, and everything shall be forgotten that has passed between us.  This is not a moment to bear malice; and I freely pardon you all and everything.  The fate of our unfortunate friend, Mr. Montefalderon, should teach us charity, and cause us to prepare for untimely ends.”

All the time the good widow was making this speech, which she uttered in a solemn and oracular sort of manner, she was moving slowly toward the seat the men had prepared for her, in the middle of the boat, assisted with the greatest care and attention by the boatswain and another of Spike’s confidants.  When on the second thwart from aft, and about to take her seat, the boatswain cast a look behind him, and Spike put the helm down.  The boat luffed and lurched, of course, and Mrs. Budd would probably have gone overboard to leeward, by so sudden and violent a change, had not the impetus thus received been aided by the arms of the men who held her two hands.  The plunge she made into the water was deep, for she was a woman of great weight for her stature.  Still, she was not immediately gotten rid of.  Even at that dread instant, it is probable that the miserable woman did not suspect the truth, for she grasped the hand of the boatswain with the tenacity of a vice, and, thus dragged on the surface of the boiling surges, she screamed aloud for Spike to save her.  Of all who had yet been sacrificed to the captain’s selfish wish to save himself, this was the first instance in which any had been heard to utter a sound, after falling into the sea.  The appeal shocked even the rude beings around her, and Biddy chiming in with a powerful appeal to “save the missus!” added to the piteous nature of the scene.