“‘The swine!’ says Jowl. ‘Let un drown!’
“I ’lowed we’d better pump; but Jowl wouldn’t hear to it. Not he! No sir! He’d see the whole herd o’ pigs sunk afore he’d turn a finger!
“‘Me pump!’ says he.
“‘You better,’ says I.
“‘For what?’
“‘For your life,’ says I.
“‘An’ save them swine in the forecastle?’ says he. ‘Not me!’
“I ’lowed it didn’t matter, anyhow, for ’twas only a question o’ keepin’ the Wings o’ the Mornin’ out o’ the grave for a spell longer than she might have stayed of her own notion. But, thinks I, I’ll pump, whatever, t’ pass time; an’ so I set to, an’ kep’ at it. The wind was real vicious, an’ the seas was breakin’ over us, fore an’ aft an’ port an’ starboard, t’ suit their fancy, an’ the wreck o’ the Wings o’ the Mornin’ wriggled an’ bounced in a way t’ s’prise the righteous, an’ the black sky was pourin’ buckets o’ rain an’ hail on all the world, an’ the wind was makin’ knotted whips o’ both. It wasn’t agreeable, an’ by-an’-by my poor brains was fair riled t’ see the able-bodied Jowl with nothin’ t’ do but dodge the seas an’ keep hisself from bein’ pitched over-board. ’Twas a easy berth he had! But I was busy.
“‘Look you, Jowl,’ sings I, ‘you better take a spell at the pump.’
“‘Me?’ says he.
“‘Yes, you!’
“‘Oh no!’ says he.
“‘You think I’m goin’ t’ do all this labor single-handed?’ says I.
“‘’Tis your own notion,’ says he.
“‘I’ll see you sunk, Jowl!’ says I, ‘afore I pumps another stroke. If you wants t’ drown afore night I’ll not hinder. Oh no, Mister Jowl!’ says I. ‘I’ll not be standin’ in your light.’
“‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘I got a idea.’
“‘Dear man!’ says I.
“‘The wind’s moderatin’,’ says he, ‘an’ it won’t be long afore the sea gets civil. But the Wings o’ the Mornin’ won’t float overlong. She’ve been settlin’ hasty for the last hour. Still an’ all, I ’low I got time t’ make a raft, which I’ll do.’
“‘Look!’ says I.
“Off near where the sun was settin’ the clouds broke. ’Twas but a slit, but it let loose a flood o’ red light. ’Twas a bloody sky an’ sea – red as shed blood, but full o’ the promise o’ peace which follows storm, as the good God directs.
“‘I ’low,’ says he, ‘the wind will go down with the sun.’
“The vessel was makin’ heavy labor of it. ‘I bets you,’ says I, ‘the Wings o’ the Mornin’ beats un both.’
“‘Time’ll tell,’ says he.
“I give un a hand with the raft. An’ hard work ’twas; never knowed no harder, before nor since, with the seas comin’ overside, an’ the deck pitchin’ like mad, an’ the night droppin’ down. Ecod! but I isn’t able t’ tell you. I forgets what we done in the red light o’ that day. ’Twas labor for giants an’ devils! But we had the raft in the water afore dark, ridin’ in the lee, off the hulk. It didn’t look healthy, an’ was by no means invitin’; but the Wings o’ the Mornin’ was about t’ bow an’ retire, if the signs spoke true, an’ the raft was the only hope in all the brutal world. I took kindly t’ the crazy thing – I ’low I did!
“‘Tumm,’ says Jowl, ‘I ’low you thinks you got some rights in that raft.’
“‘I do,’ says I.
“‘But you isn’t,’ says he. ‘You isn’t, Tumm, because I’m a sight bigger ’n you, an’ could put you off. It isn’t in my mind t’ do it – but I could. I wants company, Tumm, for it looks like a long v’y’ge, an’ I’m ’lowin’ t’ have you.’
“‘What about the crew?’ says I.
“‘They isn’t room for more’n two on that raft,’ says he.
“‘Dear God! Jowl,’ says I, ‘what you goin’ t’ do?’
“‘I’m goin’ t’ try my level best,’ says he, ‘t’ get home t’ my wife an’ kid; for they’d be wonderful disappointed if I didn’t turn up.’
“‘But the crew’s got wives an’ kids!’ says I.
“‘An’ bad stomachs,’ says he.
“‘Jowl,’ says I, ‘she’s sinkin’ fast.’
“‘Then I ’low we better make haste.’
“I started for’ard.
“‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘don’t you go another step. If them swine in the forecastle knowed they was a raft ’longside, they’d steal it. It won’t hold un, Tumm. It won’t hold more’n two, an’, ecod!’ says he, with a look at the raft, ‘I’m doubtin’ that she’s able for that!’
“It made me shiver.
“‘No, sir!’ says he. ‘I ’low she won’t hold more’n one.’
“‘Oh yes, she will, Jowl!’ says I. ‘Dear man! yes; she’s able for two.’
“‘Maybe,’ says he.
“‘Handy!’ says I. ‘Oh, handy, man!’
“‘We’ll try,’ says he, ‘whatever comes of it. An’ if she makes bad weather, why, you can – ’
“He stopped.
“‘Why don’t you say the rest?’ says I.
“‘I hates to.’
“‘What do you mean?’ says I.
“‘Why, damme! Tumm,’ says he, ‘I mean that you can get off. What else would I mean?’
“Lord! I didn’t know!
“‘Well?’ says he.
“‘It ain’t very kind,’ says I.
“‘What would you do,’ says he, ‘if you was me?’
“I give un a look that told un, an’ ’twas against my will I done it.
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘you can’t blame me, then.’
“No more I could.
“‘Now I’ll get the grub from the