It inspires Corkey, this frequent admonition of the boy. But the boat
cavorts dizzily.

"Bail, you moke! You black devil! Don't you forget it!" The oars go
fast and furious, often in the air, and each time with a volley of
oaths.

The wood-chopper has seized a man. It is another wood-chopper. There
are now four souls in the boat.

It leaps less like an athlete.

It has been half an hour since the Africa went down. There still are
cries. To all these, Corkey replies: "Come on! all you fellers that
has life-preservers!" But it is incredible that any more should get in
the yawl.

Nevertheless, one, two, three, four, five, six wood-choppers arrive in
the next half-hour, and all are saved. Tugging for dear life, Corkey
holds his boat against the wind.

"There!" cries the commander. "I strike him again!"

A wood-chopper this time grasps a floating man who can make little
effort for himself. A half-dozen pair of hands bring him aboard. He
sinks on a seat. The boat is now full. It leaps less lightly. The
commander is jubilant. He thinks himself safe. He returns to his
favorite topic, the mascot.