With his aid I lifted the form of Mr. Whippleton from the cabin floor, and we bore it to the seat in the standing-room, where I had lain so many hours. The Marian had come up into the wind when the cook left the helm, and I put her about, heading her to the south-west. Miss Collingsby took the helm at my request. She was pale and excited; but she was firm. For my own part I felt like new man, and the new order of things seemed to soothe the pain I was still suffering. I examined Mr. Whippleton very carefully again. I felt the beatings of his heart, and I was satisfied that he was not more severely injured than I had been. I did not intend to make any more mistakes, and with the same cord which had confined my hands, I tied his wrists together behind him. I secured his feet, and made him fast to the jib-sheet cleat. He was now in precisely the same situation as that to which I had been reduced, and in which I had been only half an hour before. He lay very still; but I was satisfied so long as I knew that he breathed. His face was covered with blood, for the bottle had broken under the blow, and cut his head. I directed Peter to wash his face and bathe his head in spirits. "Gorrificious! Things is turned right over," said he. "They are; and, Peter, I give you the same instructions which Mr. Whippleton gave you. Don't you let him get away," I added, as I seated myself at the side of Marian. "No, sir." "I'm not drunk, Peter." "No, sir; sober's you was the day you was born," chattered the cook. "If you want to get back to Chicago without a hole in your head, you will see that Mr. Whippleton don't get loose. I shall keep this pistol beside me, and I shall not go to sleep." "Yes, sir. I understand." "See that you mind." "Don't be afraid of me, Mr. Philip. I always minds the captain, whoever he is," replied the polite cook, who, like thousands of others, was disposed to submit to the powers that be without asking any questions. I did not mean to depend upon him for any service, except in the cabin and cook-room, and I was confident that the pistol would make him obedient. Peter rubbed the head of his late master diligently, as I told him to do, until his patient showed signs of returning animation; but he did not come to his senses for two hours. He was thoroughly steeped in whiskey; indeed, the yacht had the odor of a rum-shop, with what had been drank and what had been spilled. "How do you feel, Phil?" asked Marian, after the excitement had partially subsided. "Better, much better." "Does your head ache now?" "It does, severely, I should say, under ordinary circumstances; but I don't mind it now, since the prospect is changed. You are a brave girl, Marian," I added, gazing at her with admiration. "I was terribly frightened. I was afraid Mr. Whippleton would shoot you." "I think he would; he did fire at me; but he was too tipsy to take aim." "Whiskey has been our friend, this time."