He hauled in, lustily aided by the skipper, until the long white body of Private Smith, blanched with the cold, came bumping against the schooner’s side. “It’s a mermaid,” said the mate, who was inclined to be superstitious, as he peered doubtfully down at it. “Let it go, Joe.” “Haul it in, boys,” said the skipper impatiently; and two of the men clambered over the side and, stooping down, raised it from the water. In the midst of a puddle, which he brought with him, Private Smith was laid on the deck, and, waving his arms about, fought wildly for his breath. “Fetch one of them empties,” said the skipper quickly, as he pointed to some barrels ranged along the side. The men rolled one over, and then aided the skipper in placing the long fair form of their visitor across it, and to trundle it lustily up and down the deck, his legs forming convenient handles for the energetic operators. “He’s coming round,” said the mate, checking them; “he’s speaking. How do you feel, my poor fellow?” He put his ear down, but the action was unnecessary. Private Smith felt bad, and, in the plainest English he could think of at the moment, said so distinctly. “He’s swearing,” said the mate. “He ought to be ashamed of himself.” “Yes,” said the skipper austerely; “and him so near death too. How did you get in the water?” “Went for a—swim,” panted Smith surlily. “_Swim?_” echoed the skipper. “Why, we’re ten miles from land!” “His mind’s wandering, pore feller,” interrupted Joe hurriedly. “What boat did you fall out of, matey?” “A row-boat,” said Smith, trying to roll out of reach of the skipper, who was down on his knees flaying him alive with a roller-towel. “I had to undress in the water to keep afloat. I’ve lost all my clothes.” “Pore feller,” said Dan. “A gold watch and chain, my purse, and three of the nicest fellers that ever breathed,” continued Smith, who was now entering into the spirit of the thing. “Poor chaps,” said the skipper solemnly. “Any of ’em leave any family?” “Four,” said Smith sadly. “Children?” queried the mate. “Families,” said Smith. “Look here,” said the mate, but the watchful Joe interrupted him. “His mind’s wandering,” said he hastily. “He can’t count, pore chap. We’d better git him to bed.” “Ah, do,” said the skipper, and, assisted by his friends, the rescued man was half led, half carried below and put between the blankets, where he lay luxuriously sipping a glass of brandy and water, sent from the cabin. “How’d I do it?” he inquired, with a satisfied air. “There was no need to tell all them lies about it,” said Dan sharply; “instead of one little lie you told half-a-dozen. I don’t want nothing more to do with you. You start afresh now, like a new-born babe.” “All right,” said Smith shortly; and, being very much fatigued with his exertions, and much refreshed by the brandy, fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.