I kept calling out, to encourage the swimmers, and presently I heard a
voice, saying, "Ned, I'm here, close by you." This was Tom Goldsmith, a
messmate, and the very man under whose rug I had been sleeping, at
quarters. He did not want much help, getting in, pretty much, by himself.
I asked him, if he were able to help me. "Yes, Ned," he answered, "I'll
stand by you to the last; what shall I do?" I told him to take his
tarpaulin, and to bail the boat, which, by this time, was a third full of
water. This he did, while I sculled a little ahead. "Ned," says Tom,
"she's gone down with her colours flying, for her pennant came near
getting a round turn about my body, and carrying me down with her. Davy
has made a good haul, and he gave us a close shave; but he didn't get you
and me." In this manner did this thoughtless sailor express himself, as
soon as rescued from the grasp of death! Seeing something on the water, I
asked Tom to take my oar, while I sprang to the gunwale, and caught Mr.
Bogardus, the master's mate, who was clinging to one of the sweeps. I
hauled him in, and he told me, he thought, some one had hold of the other
end of the sweep. It was so dark, however, we could not see even that
distance. I hauled the sweep along, until I found Ebenezer Duffy, a
mulatto, and the ship's cook. He could not swim a stroke; and was nearly
gone. I got him in, alone, Tom bailing, lest the boat, which was quite
small, should swamp with us.

As the boat drifted along, she reached another man, whom I caught also by
the collar. I was afraid to haul this person in amidships, the boat being
now so deep, and so small, and so I dragged him ahead, and hauled him in
over the bows. This was the pilot, whose name I never knew. He was a
lake-man, and had been aboard us the whole summer. The poor fellow was
almost gone, and like all the rest, with the exception of Tom, he lay down
and said not a word.