"When you’ve quite finished, Snatcher.... By the way, what about hot-water bottles—blankets—stimulants.... First aid: come along! ’Assure the patient in a loud voice that he is safe.’ ... ’Aspect cheerful but subdued.’ ... I learned the whole rigmarole once!" From the fore upper bridge the Captain was handling his ship like a picket-boat. "’Midships—steady! Stop both!" He raised his mouth from the voice-pipe to the helmsman, and nodded to the Officer of the Watch. "She’ll do now.... The wind ’ll take her down." The Commander leaned over the rail and called the Boatswain’s Mate— "Clear lower deck! Man the falls!" The ranks of men along the ship’s side turned inboard, and passed the ropes aft, in readiness to hoist the boat. There were three hundred men on the falls, standing by to whisk the cutter to the davit-heads like a cockle-shell. "They’ve got ’em—got ’em both!" murmured the deep voices: they spat impatiently. "What say, lads? Stamp an’ go with ’er?" "Silence in the battery! _Marry_!" The Commander was leaning over the bridge rails; the Surgeon and two Sick-berth Stewards were waiting by the davits. Alongside the cutter was rising and falling on the waves.... "All right, sir!" The voice of the Coxswain came up as if from the deep. They had hooked the plunging boat on somehow, and his thumb-nail was a pulp.... Three hundred pairs of eyes turned towards the fore-bridge. "_Hoist away!_" No need for the Boatswain’s Mate to echo the order; no need for the Petty Officers’ "With a will, then, lads!" They rushed aft in a wild stampede, hauling with every ounce of beef and strength in their bodies. The cutter, dripping and swaying, her crew fending her off the rolling ship with their stretchers, shot up to the davits. "High ’nough!" The rush stopped like one man. Another pull on the after-fall—enough. She was hoisted. "_Walk back! ... Lie to!_" A tense silence fell upon the crowded battery: the only sound that of men breathing hard. A limp figure was seen descending the Jacob’s ladder out of the boat, assisted by two of the crew. Heady hands were outstretched to help, and the next moment Willie Sparling, Ordinary Seaman, Official Number 13728, was once more on the deck of a man-of-war—a place he never expected to see again. "Ow!" He winced, "Min’ my shoulder—it’s ’urted...." He looked round at the familiar faces lit by the electric lights, and jerked his head back at the boat hanging from her davits. "_’E_ saved my life—look after ’im. ’E’s a ... e’s a—bleedin’ ’ero, ..." and Willie Sparling, with a broken collar-bone, collapsed dramatically enough. The Engineer Lieutenant swung himself down on to the upper deck and stooped to wring the water from his trousers. The Surgeon seized him by the arm—- "Come along, Shortie—in between the blankets with you!" The hero of the moment disengaged his arm and shook himself like a terrier. "Blankets be blowed—it’s my Middle Watch."