Along the bridge came the relayed cry of "Man overboard!"
I glanced at the mate, who had just released the wheel to the
helmsmen. He shook his head, as if irritated by so trivial a
happening, walked to the corner of the half-wheelhouse, and stared at
the coast he had escaped, white and black and cold in the moonlight.
Mr. Mellaire came aft, and they met beside me in the lee of the
chart-house.
"All hands, Mr. Mellaire," the mate said, "and get the mainsail off
of her. After that, the mizzen-topgallant."
"Yes, sir," said the second.
"Who was it?" the mate asked, as Mr. Mellaire was turning away.
"Boney--he was no good, anyway," came the answer.
That was all. Boney the Splinter was gone, and all hands were
answering the command of Mr. Mellaire to take in the mainsail. But
they never took it in; for at that moment it started to blow away out
of the bolt-ropes, and in but few moments all that was left of it was
a few short, slatting ribbons.
"Mizzen-topgallant-sail!" Mr. Pike ordered. Then, and for the first
time, he recognized my existence.
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