water,--of course we've got no freeboard at all,--and suddenly a gale
sprung up. We pulled in the canvas, but to no purpose. Under a bare
pole we seemed every minute to be going under completely. We have
no cabin, and all we could do was to lay flat on the deck in the
water, and hold on to anything we could grab. The natives prayed,
by God! They 're Catholics, and they remembered it then. The mate
wanted to throw the copra overboard. I was willing, but I said,
'What for? We're dead men, and it'll do no good. She can't stand up
even empty.' We stayed swamped that way all night, expecting to be
drowned any minute, and I myself said to the Lord--I was a chorister
once--that if I had done anything wrong in my life, I was sorry--"

"But you knew you had?" I interposed.

"Of course I did, but I wasn't going to rub it in on myself in
that fix. I knew He knew all about me. My father was a curate in
Devon. Well, we pulled through all right, because here I am, and the
copra's on the dock. What do you think--the wind died away completely,
and we had to sweep in to Papeete."

I touched his glass with mine. He was very ingenuous, a four-square
man.

"Did the prayers have anything to do with your pulling through and
saving the copra?" I questioned, curious.

"I don't know. I didn't make any fixed promises. I was bloody well
scared, and I meant what I said about being sorry. But that's all
gone. Let's drink this up and have another. Joseph!"