Then Jerry and I took to the canoe, with good prospect of half a night's work before us, and paddled around to the eastward, after which we set about going back and forth for a distance of a quarter of a mile, since that seemed to be the place a man naturally would make for. We could see the riding lights of the ship plainly, and although it would require considerable labor to swim so far, it should be readily done by one who was at all familiar with the work. "We'd find ourselves in a pretty hobble if a boat put off from the ship just now," Jerry said in a low tone, and I was angry with him for having offered such a suggestion. There was enough in the venture to make a fellow nervous, without conjuring up all the possibilities at a time when one needed to have his wits about him. "We won't think of anything except trying to pick the poor man up," I said sharply. "This isn't the kind of work that suits me, and I'm not so cold-blooded that I can picture out all the trouble which may come upon us." "A fellow can't help thinkin'," Jerry replied grumpily, and I said yet more curtly: "He needn't talk about it to mix others up." Then, angered with myself for having spoken so petulantly, I added, "To tell the truth, Jerry, I am as frightened as a lad well can be, and don't dare to talk overly much lest I should show the white feather in a way to make you ashamed of me." "You can't be any worse off than I am," my partner replied, and then we both laughed softly. An acknowledgment of our timorousness seemed to hearten us, and we worked the paddles in a more whole-souled fashion. As I have said, we decided to pull back and forth on a line about a quarter of a mile long, and all the while kept a sharp watch in the direction of the vessel, for a swimmer's head on the water is not a very large object to see in the night. We did not dare indulge in much conversation, and during an hour we had not spoken once; but then I said, thinking to spare ourselves useless labor: "If he slipped off at eight o'clock, he should have been here by this time. We may as well lay still till midnight." I had hardly ceased speaking when we heard a sound as of some one whistling softly, and nothing more was needed to tell us that Bill Jepson had succeeded in slipping away from the ship. CHAPTER VIII. THE DESERTER. Even after knowing that the deserter was near at hand, we had considerable difficulty in locating him, and not until after making a complete circle around the swimmer could I see his head. As we came alongside he grasped the gunwale to rest himself, and asked: "Are you from the oysterman?" "Ay, shan't we take you aboard now? The pungy is on the other side of the island." "The canoe would be overturned if I attempted to come over the rail. Paddle into shoaler water, an' I'll try it." "Tired out?" I asked as we worked the craft toward the shore, he still holding by the gunwale.