A Terrible Coward | Page 6

I thought he had swum back."
"Went round the other side," said the master quietly. "Here, you Zekle,
don't throw a fish like that on to the heap; the head's half off."
The man advanced, picked the torn mackerel off the heap, where he
had inadvertently thrown it, and the work went on, till as the master
raised his eyes to where Penelly sat, he saw how pale and strange he
looked.
"Why, lad," he exclaimed, "you've been too long in the water. You look
quite cold and blue. I'd lay hold of one of the sweeps if I were you. It
will warm you to help pullin'. Here, hallo!" he shouted, "who's let all

that net go trailing overboard? Here's a mess! we shall have to run it all
through our hands again."
Mark Penelly's eyes seemed starting out of his head as, with a
convulsive gasp, he seized hold of the net, along with the master and
another, and they began to haul in fathom after fathom, which came up
slowly, and as if a great deal of it were sunk.
"Why, there's half the net overboard!" cried the master angrily. "How
did you manage it? What have you been about?"
"There can't be much over," said the man who was helping; "she was
all right just now. There's a fish in it, and a big one."
"Don't talk such foolery, Zekle Wynn," said the master. "I tell 'ee half
the net's overboard."
"How can she be overboard when she's nigh all in the boat?" said the
man savagely.
"Zekle's right," cried Mark Penelly, who was hauling away excitedly;
"there's a big fish in it. Look! you can see the gleam of it down below."
"Well, don't pull a man's nets in like that, Mas'r Mark!" said the other,
now growing interested and hauling steadily in; "nets cost money to
breed." [Note. Cornish. Making nets is termed "breeding."] "Why, it's a
porpoise, and a good big 'un too! Steady, lads; steady! She's swum into
the net that trailed overboard. Steady, or we shall lose her! Here, hold
on, lads, and I'll get down into the boat and--haul away!" he roared
excitedly, as he had made out clearly what was entangled in the net.
"Quick, lads! quick! It's a man! It's--my word if it ar'n't young Harry
Paul!"
The net was drawn in steadily over the roller at the lugger's side, till
Penelly and the master could lean down and grasp the arms of the
drowning or drowned man, whom they dragged on board, and then, not
without some difficulty, freed from the net that clung to his limbs. He
had struggled so hard that he had wound it round and round him, and so

tight was it in places that, without hesitation, the master pulled out his
great jack-knife and cut the meshes in three or four places.
"You can get new nets," he said hoarsely, "but you couldn't get a new
Harry Paul. There's some spirit down in the cabin, Zekle. Quick, lad,
and bring the blanket out of the locker, and my oilskin. Poor dear lad!
he must have got tangled as he was swimming round. I'll break that
Zekle's head with a boat-hook for this job; see if I don't."
The threatened man, however, came just then with the blanket and
spirits, when everything else was forgotten in the effort to restore the
apparently drowned man. Mark Penelly worked with all his might, and
after wrapping Paul in the blanket and covering him with coats and
oilskins, some of the spirit was trickled between his clenched teeth, and
the men then rubbed his feet and hands.
"Get out the sweeps, lads. There's no wind, and we must get him ashore.
Poor dear lad! If he's a drowned man, Zekle Wynn, you've murdered
him!"
"I tell 'ee I didn't let no net trail overboard," cried the man angrily, as he
seized a long oar and began to tug at it, dropping it into the water every
time with a heavy splash.
"Don't stand talking back at me!" roared the master, seizing another oar
and dragging at it with all his might, "pull, will 'ee? pull!"
"I am a-pulling, ar'n't I?" shouted back the other, as the man and lad,
who formed the rest of the crew, each got an oar overboard and began
to pull.
"Yes, you're a-pulling, but not half pulling!" roared the master, as if his
man were half a mile away instead of close beside him.
Plenty more angry recrimination went on as all tugged at the long oars,
and the lugger began to move slowly through the water towards the
little harbour; but if Harry Paul's life had depended upon the services of
the doctor at Carn Du he would never have seen the