"His name was Holt—Ned Holt."
"Holt!" I exclaimed, "the same name as our sailing-master's."
"Who is his own brother, sir."
"Martin Holt?"
"Yes—understand me—his brother."
"But he believes that Ned Holt perished in the wreck of the Grampus with the rest."
"It was not so, and if he learned that I—"
Just at that instant a violent shock flung me out of my bunk.
The schooner had made such a lurch to the port side that she was near foundering.
I heard an angry voice cry out:
"What dog is that at the helm?"
It was the voice of West, and the person he addressed was Hearne.
I rushed out of my cabin.
"Have you let the wheel go?" repeated West, who had seized Hearne by the collar of his jersey.
"Lieutenant—I don't know—"
"Yes, I tell you, you have let it go. A little more and the schooner would have capsized under full sail."
"Gratian," cried West, calling one of the sailors, "take the helm; and you, Hearne, go down into the hold."
On a sudden the cry of "Land!" resounded, and every eye was turned southwards.
