"All hands make sail!" was at length the cheering cry, just as the sun had set, as the poets say, in his ocean bed.  We sprang aloft--Jerry and I racing who should be first up on the yard-arm.  Surley looked as if he would like to follow.  Jerry beat me.  The ship was still rolling heavily in the swell after the gale.  He was springing out towards the yard-arm, laughing gaily at his success, when the ship gave a roll, and away he was sent clear of the bulwarks and into the sea.  To glide down by a back-stay and to jump overboard after him was the work of a moment. I scarcely knew what I was doing.  I fancied that I just heard the cry of "A man overboard;" but I was not certain.  I knew that I was for my size a good swimmer, and I wanted to save my friend.  He could swim, but not much.  He threw up his arms; I saw him, and struck out towards him. I had a companion, I found, hastening also to his rescue.  It was old Surley.  He swam faster than I did, seeming to know the importance of haste.  We were not without means of support, for as Jerry fell the life-buoy had been let go.  It was such as are carried by men-of-war, and could support several people.  I sung out to Jerry.  He heard my voice, but he only answered faintly.  He had got his mouth full of water, and had been stunned and confused by his fall.  He was beating the water wildly, forgetting apparently that he could swim.