n overboard.

The circling eddies in the water showed him the spot where the girl had
gone down; but, just as he got to his feet again, she had turned to the
surface; and, uttering half-stifled screams, commenced buffeting the
water with her tiny hands, in an instinctive endeavour to keep herself
afloat.

In a crisis of this character, the brave English sailor was obstructed
by no ambiguity as to how he should act. A single bound carried him
across the _Catamaran_,--another landed him upon the top of one of the
casks, and a third launched him six feet outward into the sea. Had he
been apprised of the accident only a score of seconds sooner, less than
that number of strokes would have sufficed him to reach the spot where
the child had first fallen into the water. Unfortunately in the
collision with little William, that had brought him back to his knees,
some time had been expended. During this interval--short as it was--the
craft, though under an uncontrolled sail, was still making considerable
way; and when the rescuer at length succeeded in leaping from the cask,
the struggling form had fallen into the wake of the _Catamaran_ to the
distance of nearly a cable's length.

If the girl could only keep afloat for a few minutes, there need be no
great danger. The sailor knew that he could swim, sustaining a heavier
weight than was the little Lalee. But it was evident the child could
not swim a stroke, and was every moment in danger of sinking for the
second time.

Her rescuer perceived this danger as he started to her aid; and
therefore pressed rapidly towards her, cleaving the water with all the
strength that lay in his muscular arm and limbs.

Meanwhile little William had also regained his feet; and, having
extricated himself from the chest in which he had been temporarily
encoffined, ran towards the after part of the raft. Quickly mounting
upon the water-cask at the stern, he stood astride the steering-oar,--an
anxious and trembling spectator,--his eyes alternately fixed on the
strong swimmer and the struggling child.

Snowball was still dormant, buried in a slumber profound and
unconscious,--such as only a "darkey" can enjoy. The cry "Overboard!"
uttered by little William had made no impression upon the tympanum of
his wide-spread ears,--nor the exclamations that succeeded in the
harsher voice of the sailor. Equally unheard by him had been the scream
coming across the water, though along with it he might