stood swaying and would have fallen. Between them the two sturdy bluejackets carried him up the beach and laid him down under a tree. He seemed to be only vaguely conscious of where he was, and lay there muttering and talking to himself.
“It was the feel of the blue water under me that kept me going,” he explained pathetically in a moment of being more himself; “once I get on land you find out what I am, a battered old derelict good for nothing but to make trouble.”
“Is there somewhere near where we can leave him?” one of the sailors asked. “It looks as though it might rain and he ought to be under cover. We can send you back some one to drive him home, but we had better not wait now; our orders were to hurry. Isn’t there a house near?”
“There’s the old mill,” Billy recollected suddenly; “that will keep us dry at least and we can wait there for some one to come for us. I don’t think it is too far to carry him.”
Only the iron muscles trained in Uncle Sam’s navy could have managed such a huge, awkward burden as Captain Saulsby proved to be. He objected loudly and even struggled
