I still had the guide-line from the life-buoy round my wrist, and one moment's thought was enough to make me give it a furious tug, when away I sprang clear into the eddies. The first thing I saw at coming up was the ships' lighted stern-windows driving to leeward, then the life-buoy flaring and dipping on a swell, and a bare head, with two hands, sinking a few feet off. I made for him at once, and held him up by the hair as I struck out for the buoy. A couple of minutes after, the men in the boat had hold of us and it; the ship came sheering round to the wind, and we were very shortly aboard again. "Confound it, Simm, what took you overboard, man?" asked the mid in the boat at his dripping messmate, the fat reefer. "Oh, bother!" said he, "if you must know--why, I mistook the quarter-boats; I thought 'twas the _other_ I was in, when you kicked up that shindy! Now I remember, though, there was too much _rain_ in it for comfort!" "Well, youngster," said Tom, the man-o'-war'sman, "this here gentleman saved your life, anyhow!" "Why, mate," whispered Bill, "'tis the wery same greenhorn we puckalowed so to-day! Didn't he jump sharp over, too?" "Pull! for your lives, my lads!" said I, looking up at Ford's window; and the moment we got on deck, below I ran into the state-room, and cut Ford down by the heels, with the tinder hanging from him, and one leg of his trousers half gone. As for the poor reefer, a pretty blowing-up he got; the men swore I had jumped overboard after him, and the mate would have it that, instead of sleeping, he wanted to get into the Judge's cabins; especially when next day Sir Charles was in a rage at his daughter being disturbed by some sailor or other singing outside. [9] Sleeping on deck. [10] Anglicè--_not_ sober. FOR THE LAST PAGE OF "OUR ALBUM." At length our pens must find repose! With verse, or with poetic prose, Filled is each nook; And these poor little rhymes must close Our pleasant book! Its every page is filled at last! When on these leaves my eyes I cast, Dull thoughts to cheer, How many memories of the past Seem written here! Those who behold a river run Bright glittering in the noonday sun, See not its source; And few can know whence has begun Its giddy course! And thus the feelings that gave rise To many a verse that meets their eyes How few can tell! Yet for those feelings gone, I prize And love it well! Some stanzas were composed to grace An hour of pleasure,--some to chase Sad care away; And some to help on time's slow pace Which would delay! In some, we trace affection's tone To friends then kind,--now colder grown By force or art: In some, the shade of hopes, now gone, Then, next the heart!