Trunnell stood near the break of the poop, and beside him were the
skipper and third mate. I noticed a look of surprise come upon the young
officer's face when I came close to them. It was much lighter now, and
the actions of this young fellow interested me.

"I thought you might have been drowned," he cried, in his high female
voice, but with a significant tone and look at the last word which was
not lost on me in spite of the elements.

"Everything is all snug forward," I answered, bawling at the captain, but
looking fairly at the third mate. "You can let a few men go and rivet
irons on the convict by the windlass bitts. He seems to have little
trouble unlocking these." And I held up the unlocked irons I had picked
up under the forecastle.

As I held the irons under the third officer's nose, he drew back. Then he
took them and flung them with an impatient gesture over the side into the
sea. I thought I heard a fierce oath in a deep voice near by, but
Trunnell and the captain were both staring up at the fringe flying from
the maintopsail yard, and had evidently said nothing. There was little
more to do now, for as long as the ship held her head to the sea, she
would probably ride it out, unless some accident happened.

I was worn out with the exertion from handling canvas and my fracas
forward, so after bawling out some of the details of the occurrence into
Trunnell's ear, I took my watch below to get a rest. The men who
preferred to stay aft clear of the water were allowed to lie down near
the mizzen. Some took advantage of this permission, but for the most part
they stood huddled in a group along the spanker boom, ready for a call.