“A scream came from the quarter-deck, and then the cry: ‘Child overboard!’ There was but one child, the captain’s, aboard. I was sitting just aft the foremast, herring-boning a split in a spare jib. I sprang to the bulwark, and there, sure enough, was the child, going fast astarn, but pretty high in the water. How it happened I can’t think to this day, sir, but I suppose my needle, in the hurry, had got into my jacket, so as to skewer it to my jersey, for we were far south of the line at the time, sir, and it was cold. However that may be, as soon as I was overboard, which you may be sure didn’t want the time I take tellin’ of it, I found that I ought to ha’ pulled my jacket off afore I gave the bulwark the last kick. So I rose on the water, and began to pull it over my head—for it was wide, and that was the easiest way, I thought, in the water. But when I had got it right over my head, there it stuck. And there was I, blind as a Dutchman in a fog, and in as strait a jacket as ever poor wretch in Bedlam, for I could only just wag my flippers. Mr Walton, I believe I swore—the Lord forgive me!—but it was trying. And what was far worse, for one moment I disbelieved in Him; and I do say that’s worse than swearing—in a hurry I mean. And that moment something went, the jacket was off, and there was I feelin’ as if every stroke I took was as wide as the mainyard. I had no time to repent, only to thank God. And wasn’t it more than I deserved, sir? Ah! He can rebuke a man for unbelief by giving him the desire of his heart. And that’s a better rebuke than tying him up to the gratings.” “And did you save the child?” “Oh yes, sir.” “And wasn’t the captain pleased?” “I believe he was, sir. He gave me a glass o’ grog, sir. But you was a sayin’ of something, sir, when I interrupted of you.” “I am very glad you did interrupt me.” “I’m not though, sir. I Ve lost summat I’ll never hear more.” “No, you shan’t lose it. I was going to tell you how I think I came to understand a little about the things I was talking of to-day.” “That’s it, sir; that’s it. Well, sir, if you please?” “You’ve heard of Sir Philip Sidney, haven’t you, Old Rogers?” “He was a great joker, wasn’t he, sir?” “No, no; you’re thinking of Sydney Smith, Rogers.” “It may be, sir. I am an ignorant man.” “You are no more ignorant than you ought to be.—But it is time you should know him, for he was just one of your sort. I will come down some evening and tell you about him.”