Then, scrambling, gasping, to my feet, I saw what had happened. The spar, answering to our strain in the bobble of water, had swung towards us, the rope had slackened, and over we had tumbled. Chattering with excitement, we got hold once more, and pulled.
Still it did not come free, nor for long minutes yet. We tugged and hauled what we dared, and ceased, and tugged again. Not—to cut short that tale of agony and suspense—until we were ankle deep in water; not until the rush of little incoming waves foamed high on the stern of The Good Hope, kicking her up, and loosening her nip on that grim-held relic of her own; not until the sands were whelmed near and far, so that we seemed to sprout, three fantastic trunks of humanity, from the surface of the ocean itself, did a great surge and vortex, answering to our last despairing wrench, show us that we had been successful.
And even then some dreadful moments passed—moments of terror lest the rope had given—before the mass, rolling sluggishly to the surface, revealed itself.
We were panting and sobbing as we hauled it in. But Harry kept his wits through all.
“Get astride, Dick,” he said, “and help me to fasten this home.”
“This” was the running gear, which he wanted to dispose about the spar in such way as to give us all some hold to cling by. We wrought quick and hard, and in a little had it looped to our satisfaction. The wreckage consisted of a huge segment of a main lower and top-mast, with the step, pretty complete, and the whole of the over-lapping part bolted snug, on either side of which the great sticks had snapped. It was in all some twenty feet long, perhaps, with rings and shroud fastenings and cut ends of rigging yet attached; and it floated massive, on an even keel, so to speak, so that in places we could even walk on it without fear of upsetting in that tranquil sea.
“Now,” said Harry at last, “to get to Mr. Pilbrow!”
I swear till that moment we had realized no difficulty; and then, with the word, we were staring aghast at one another. The spar sat too deep to move; not till the tide had risen another two feet at least would she ride over the bank; we knew no way round. Could he plant himself firm in that hurrying sway of water until we reached him?
We stood up and waved and shouted: “We’re coming in a little! Hold on till we come!” I don’t know if he heard us. He stood there plunged to the knees—the oddest, most tragic sight. He waved back and screeched something—what, we could not understand. Every few minutes we dropped overboard, and heaved our utmost at the great hulk, only to have her ride a few feet and ground again. But at last, when the water was up to his shoulders, she gave a little dip and curtsey, and the following wave washed her on. We yelled, then, and slipped into the water for the last time, and, finding no bottom, kicked out frantic, holding each to a loop of the rope, and propelled her slowly before us, The tide took her now, and do what we would, we could not coax her in a direct course for our friend. We saw we should miss him by a full fathom; he was staggering, desperate to keep his foothold; we drove near.
“Fling yourself forward!” shrieked Harry. “It’s your only chance!” And with the word scrambled on to the spar again. I was on Joshua’s side; and I dwelt in an agony, holding on to the rope with one hand, while I strained to draw her closer.