Mr. Pike pitched him into the fife-
rail, and returned for the last man. It was Henry, the training-ship
boy. Him I had seen, unstruggling, motionless, show at the surface
like a drowned man and sink again as the flood surged aft and smashed
him against the cabin. Mr. Pike, shoulder-deep, twice beaten to his
knees and under by bursting seas, caught the lad, shouldered him, and
carried him away for'ard.
An hour later, in the cabin, I encountered Mr. Pike going into
breakfast. He had changed his clothes, and he had shaved! Now how
could one treat a hero such as he save as I treated him when I
remarked off-handedly that he must have had a lively watch?
"My," he answered, equally off-handedly, "I did get a prime soaking."
That was all. He had had no time to see me at the poop-rail. It was
merely the day's work, the ship's work, the MAN'S work--all capitals,
if you please, in MAN. I was the only one aft who knew, and I knew
because I had chanced to see. Had I not been on the poop at that
early hour no one aft ever would have known those gray, storm-morning
deeds of his.
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