For a moment they were buried in the swirling maelstrom,
and then as the Halfmoon rose again, shaking the watery
enemy from her back, the two men were disclosed--Theriere
half over the ship's side--the mucker clinging to him with one
hand, the other clutching desperately at a huge cleat upon the
gunwale.
Byrne dragged the mate to the deck, and then slowly and
with infinite difficulty across it to the cabin hatch. Through it
he pushed the man, tumbling after him and closing the aperture
just as another wave swept the Halfmoon.
Theriere was conscious and but little the worse for his
experience, though badly bruised. He looked at the mucker in
astonishment as the two faced each other in the cabin.
"I don't know why you did it," said Theriere.
"Neither do I," replied Billy Byrne.
"I shall not forget it, Byrne," said the officer.
"Yeh'd better," answered Billy, turning away.
The mucker was extremely puzzled to account for his act.
He did not look upon it at all as a piece of heroism; but
rather as a "fool play" which he should be ashamed of. The
very idea! Saving the life of a gink who, despite his brutal
ways, belonged to the much-despised "highbrow" class. Billy
was peeved with himself.
Theriere, for his part, was surprised at the unexpected
heroism of the man he had long since rated as a cowardly
bully.
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