s been down ze long time. Ah! Let us lower ze boat and find
heem."

"Voila! Voila!" cried another. "He ees drowned!"

_Plunkety, plunk, splash!_ went a boat over the side, and in a moment
more, a half dozen sailors were eagerly looking into the deep, blue
wash of the ocean.

"He no there. I will dive for heem," cried out the fellow who had
first spoken, and, leaping from the boat, he disappeared from view.

In a few moments he re-appeared, drawing the body of the first diver
with him. It was apparently helpless. The prostrate sailor was lifted
to the deck; rubbed, worked over, scrubbed,--but no signs of life were
there.

Meanwhile, a Portuguese Lieutenant, who was pacing the poop, appeared
to be much pleased at what took place.

"The fellow's dead! The beggar's done for,--sure. Overboard with the
rascal! To the waves with the dead 'un!"

"Give us a few more moments," cried the sailors. "He will come to!"

But the Lieutenant smiled satirically.

"To the waves with the corpse! To the sharks with the man from St.
Malo!" cried he.

And all of this the senseless seaman heard--for--he was in a
cataleptic fit, where he could hear, but could not move. The
Portuguese Lieutenant and he were bitter enemies.

"Oh, I tell you, Boys, the fellow's dead!" again cried the Portuguese.
"Over with him!"

So saying, he seized the inert body with his hands; dragged it to the
ship's side; and started to lift it to the rail.

Conscious of all that went on around him, the paralyzed Surcouf
realized that, unless he could make some sign, he had only a few
seconds to live. So, with a tremendous effort--he made a movement of
his limbs. It was noticed.

"Voila! Voila!" cried a French sailor. "He ees alife. No! No! You
cannot kill heem!"

Running forward, he grabbed the prostrate form of Robert Surcouf,
pulled it back upon the deck, and--as the Portuguese Lieutenant went
off cursing--he rubbed the cold hands of the half-senseless man. In a
moment the supposed corpse had opened its eyes.

"Ah!" he whispered. "I had a close call. A thousand thanks to all!"

In five more moments he could stand upon the deck, and--believe me--he
did not forget the Portuguese Lieutenant!

Robert Surcouf was born at St. Malo--just one hundred years after Du
Guay-Trouin, to whom he was related. And like his famous relative he
had been intended for the Church,--but he was always fighting; was
insubordinate, and could not be made to study. In fact, he