Chapter 17 - Page 2

with buoys under you of your
own making--what then?"

----
[FOOTNOTE-2] In addition to the _Bower-anchors_ carried on her
bows, a frigate carries large anchors in her fore-chains, called
_Sheet-anchors_. Hence, the old seamen stationed in that part of
a man-of-war are called _sheet-anchor-man_.
----

"I never go aloft, and don't intend to fall overboard," replied Bungs.

"Don't believe it!" cried the sheet-anchor-man; "you lopers that live
about the decks here are nearer the bottom of the sea than the light
hand that looses the main-royal. Mind your eye, Bungs--mind your eye!"

"I will," retorted Bungs; "and you mind yours!"

Next day, just at dawn, I was startled from my hammock by the cry
of "_All hands about ship and shorten sail_!" Springing up the
ladders, I found that an unknown man had fallen overboard from
the chains; and darting a glance toward the poop, perceived, from
their gestures, that the life-sentries there had cut away the buoys.

It was blowing a fresh breeze; the frigate was going fast through
the water. But the one thousand arms of five hundred men soon
tossed her about on the other tack, and checked her further headway.

"Do you see him?" shouted the officer of the watch through his trumpet,
hailing the main-mast-head. "Man or _buoy_, do you see either?"

"See nothing, sir," was the reply.

"Clear away the cutters!" was the next order. "Bugler! call away
the second, third, and fourth cutters' crews. Hands by the tackles!"

In less than three minutes the three boats were down; More hands
were wanted in one of them, and, among others, I jumped in to
make up the deficiency.

"Now, men, give way! and each man look out along his oar, and
look sharp!" cried the officer of our boat. For a time, in
perfect silence, we slid up and down the great seething swells of
the sea, but saw nothing.

"There, it's no use," cried the officer; "he's gone, whoever he
is. Pull away, men--pull away! they'll be recalling us soon."

"Let him drown!" cried the strokesman; "he's spoiled my watch
below for me."

"Who the devil is he?" cried another.

"He's one who'll never have a coffin!" replied a third.

"No, no! they'll never sing out, '_All hands bury the dead!_' for
him, my hearties!" cried a fourth.

"Silence," said the officer, "and look along your oars." But the
sixteen oarsmen still continued their talk; and, after pulling
about for two or three hours, we spied the recall-signal at the
frigate's