I did not dare look at Lucy, who remained quiet as to voice,
after the first involuntary exclamation, and as immovable as a
statue. Luckily her face was from me. As Drewett was evidently
discomposed, I thought it best, however, to devise something not only
for his relief, but for that of Lucy's box, which was in quite as much
jeopardy as the young man, himself; more so, indeed, if the latter
could swim. I was on the point of calling out to Drewett to hold on,
and I would cause the boom-end to reach over the Orpheus's main-deck,
after which he might easily drop down among his friends, when Neb,
finding some one to take the helm, suddenly stood at my side.
"He drop dat box, sartain, Masser Mile," half-whispered the negro; "he
leg begin to shake already, and he won'erful skear'd!"
"I would not have that happen for a good deal--can you save it, Neb?"
"Sartain, sir. Only hab to run out on 'e boom and bring it in, and gib
it Miss Lucy; she mighty partic'lar about dat werry box, Masser Mile,
as I see a hundrer time, and more too."
"Well, lay out, boy, and bring it in,--and look to your footing, Neb."
This was all Neb wanted. The fellow had feet shaped a good deal like
any other aquatic bird, with the essential difference, however, that
no small part of his foundation had been laid abaft the perpendicular
of the tendon Achilles, and, being without shoes, he could nearly
encircle a small spar in his grasp.
Pages:
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804