"Come, my lad," I said, "I believe, after all,
you're the hand for a ship in trouble. You must
be pilot and captain everything. Jump up!
Here it comes!"

"All right. Bear a hand!" shouted Toby,
springing up, throwing off his pea-jacket, and
darting to the helm. He lashed it for a moment
in a particular position, then, flying at the sails,
with voice and gestures incited us to certain
manœuvres, which had just time to result in a
close-reefed mainsail and storm-jib, when the
squall was upon us. Prepared as we were, I
still thought for a moment that all was over.
Skilfully nursed by Toby, the Minnie did,
however, once more lift her labouring side, and
the squall, for the moment, passed harmlessly
away.

"To the pump, both on you!" roared Toby.
"Work for your lives."

"With some impatient directions from our
extraordinary commander, we rigged the machine,
and set hotly to work.

"If she'll float till I run her a mile nearer,
we're all right; but, look there, you swabs!
Don't you see that second jib towing
overboard? Bear a hand to haul it in! Look at
that peak-halyard. Here, you Philip, catch hold
of this a moment. Steady so steady!"

Philip obeyed with a touching docility. That
supreme disdain of all legislative enactments
which characterises necessity, had reduced us
both to a state of servility on which it is painful
to dwell. Philip's only hope was that Dabchick
Villa might yet be unconscious of our
humiliation. As for me, I watched the enlarging
chimneys of Hyde with gradually increasing
gratitude; but the Minnie, losing her speed
as she filled, pressed heavily through the water,
and every time she dipped her sharp nose,
seemed more disinclined to lift it again. Pumping
seemed to make no difference; but the
tyrannical Toby would not suffer a moment's
cessation of the toil, and I was labouring away,
mechanically, when I was aware of a smart
altercation behind me.

Philip had the signal-halyards in his hand,
and had been preparing to hoist his distinguishing
flag, when the new commander fiercely
interposed.

"Tell'e you won't. If the wind catches that
'ere, she'll turn turtle at once."

"Turtle!" said Philip, "I –"

The vessel gave a feeble lurch, and the water
broke over her convex deck.

"She's settlin'," said Toby. "I wish we
was half a mile nearer. But they'll pick us
up. Haul up the boat. Steady, now, steady."

We obeyed, and reluctantly quitted the sinking
clipper; Philip, as his last assertion of
authority, hoisting his beloved cauliflower. Toby
skipped over our backs, and seated himself
comfortably in the stern-sheets.

"Take an oar, sir," said Philip.

"I shan't," said Toby. "You'd be wanting
to steer, and you don't know nuffin about it.
You and him must pull me, and you'd better
look alive. Here's the sea coming bigger and
bigger! Out oars, I tell yer, and give her
headway!"

Philip tugged like a Trojan, but his want of
condition told terribly. He flung off his jacket
and the dandy cap; and these Master Toby,
with the utmost coolness, picked up and put on.
To describe the airs the boy gave himself would
be impossible. Alternately chaffing and bullying
us, he certainly made himself ample amends
for his previous silence and submission.

We had not deserted the Minnie Jimps much
too soon. Before we had struggled landwards
more than five hundred yards, the winner of
nineteen cups made a graceful gesture of
farewell, and with her sails set, and all her fabulous
stores comfortably stowed, went quietly to the
bottom.

Once within the friendly shelter of the pier,
the water smoothed rapidly, and we had time to
take note that a large crowd had assembled to
welcome us on shore. Their shouts might be
already heard, and a waving of white handkerchiefs
from a group in the centre brought the
colour to my friend's face. As we approached,
we distinguished a Bath-chair, in which sat an
elderly lady, while, beside the latter, stood a fair
creature in a bonnet, blushing (as we perceived
on landing) like a Provence rose.

The last thing we saw of Toby was that
youth being carried on people's shoulders,
escorted by at least three hundred mistaken men
and boys, who regarded him as a hero.

We dined that evening – nay, on several
subsequent evenings – at Dabchick Villa. The
danger of our position had excited the
sympathy of Mrs. Penquickle, and prepared her
to receive us with amenity. A few weeks
thereafter I found myself in the position of
"best man;" Philip Bulkeley being reduced
to that of bridegroom, conducting to the
hymeneal altar Seraphina Jane, only daughter
of the late General Sir Kilpeck Pollinger,
of Changaree Doll and Upper Brook-street,
Baronet.

Next week will appear the First Part of a
STORY BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWO PARTS.
The Thirteenth Journey of the UNCOMMERCIAL
TRAVELLER will be published in No. 69.

A NEW SERIAL TALE,
BY CHARLES LEVER,
Will be commenced on the 18th August (in No. 69),
and continued from week to week until completed.