But Jack had done his work. It was touch and go, but he had judged the distance exactly. As the _Higgins_ surged past, her bow wave swamped the poop of the barque and poured over her rail. The Scotchman was close enough to toss a biscuit aboard, and a weird chorus of yells arose from her crew, who had swarmed into her rigging. The _Higgins'_ starbowlines replied with a ringing cheer, and the next moment the barque was almost out of sight astern, only her topmasts showing from behind a big sea. The bosun ground the wheel up, and the _Higgins_ was put on her course again. But what a sight were her decks! The two boats were matchwood, the doors of the bosun's locker and carpenter's shop opening to windward were burst in; the heavy poop-rail of brass was bent and twisted into all shapes, whilst the standard compass box lay forced over by sheer weight of water to an angle of forty-five degrees. The cabin was nearly full of water, which had poured in through the smashed windows, and the foc's'le and midshiphouse were both badly waterlogged. The maindeck was a hideous tangle of gear washed off the pins, and the top of the midshiphouse had been swept bare. Galley funnel, harness casks, rolls of wire, all were gone; whilst of the poop ladders, one lay over-turned, clean wrenched from its supports. The mate now appeared, followed by the old man and the steward. "What in hell er yew been doin' with my ship, bosun?" roared the old man, and the bosun started in to explain. Meanwhile, with tender hands, the senseless form of the rover was unlashed from the wheel and carried forward to the foc's'le, and the old man, on hearing what had happened, had the grace to send the steward along with a stiff glass of grog. In the foc's'le Jack quickly regained his senses, the men contending eagerly for the honour of attending upon him. A buzz of conversation went round as the port watch, who had been washed out of their bunks by the big sea, eagerly asked question after question. Suddenly the bosun stood in the broken doorway. "How are you feeling, Jack? It were a pretty close call, weren't it? Smite me pink, but you've got the pluck of the devil, an' I'm proud to be shipmates with ye. Your hand, mate," and he grasped the rover's hand in his great paw with a grip of iron. "I'll be as right as can be, directly," said Jack weakly. "Well, you just stay where you are and don't think of moving," replied the bosun. "Now then, the rest of you starbowlines, out you come! There's heaps of work to do"; and he retired aft, followed by the watch. The carpenter was routed out, and whilst some of the men helped the steward in the cabin the rest were kept busy nailing up weather-boards over the broken windows of the afterhouse. CHAPTER XIII "THE MAN WITH THE GUN" "Seven bells! Tumble up, starbowlines, an' show a leg. There's burgoo for breakfast."