"We were on our way from Cape Town to Boston, and when we reached the parallel of Bermuda we lost a man overboard in the following way: Just as evening fell, the wind that had been light all day freshened with a long-drawn-out moaning sound through the rigging, and the captain sang out to settle away royals and top-gallant sails, and to haul down the flying-jib. As it was raining heavily we all kept our oil-skins on when we went aloft. Upon reaching the cross-trees I laid out on the top-gallant yard, while a seaman named Porter kept on past me, going up to furl the royal. I had passed the gaskets around the sail and was about to lay down from aloft, when something large and dark flashed by me, fetched up against the top-mast rigging, then bounded clear of the vessel, and fell into the sea. Porter had missed his footing, and was now plunging down into the ocean's depths as the ship tore rapidly onward. "'Man overboard!' I yelled; and, seizing a backstay, I slid down on deck, repeating my warning in the descent. "There is no cry that will nerve a seaman to greater exertion than the one that tells him a shipmate is in dire peril, and although each one worked fiercely and with the natural strength of two men, the vessel had swept fully a mile ahead before we could lay the main-yard aback and so heave the ship to. Nimble hands cast one of the lee boats adrift from her gripes, and the mate, followed by five seamen, tumbled into her, and were lowered to the water alongside. "'I will burn a flare,' called the captain, 'so that you may keep the ship in sight!' "Four of the sailors pulled at the long oars with powerful, sweeping strokes, while the second mate guided the little vessel back into the blackness of the night, and I stood in the bows peering ahead and sending a ringing shout of encouragement across the waters every minute or two. But not one of us expected to see poor Porter again; for although he was known as a strong swimmer, how long, we reasoned, could he keep afloat in that breaking sea, weighted down with his clothes--a suit of oil-skins, and heavy sea-boots? However, we worked as zealously as though the sight of a shipmate's struggling, drowning, beseeching face were before us. The ship had been running free when Porter fell from the yard, so to fetch the place where he had first sunk we had only to pull dead against wind and sea. The men labored at the oars until their breath was drawn in choking gasps, and the heavy oak blades were almost swept from cramped and weakened arms. "'Cease rowing, and listen!' called the mate.