“Small is gone!” muttered Andy, hoarsely. It was all he could do to keep himself on the wreckage.
Jack did not answer. He, too, had seen the mishap to the lanky sailor and he realized that in such a tempest it would be next to impossible for Small to save himself. He grabbed hold of the loose end of one of the ropes and, tying this fast under his arms, passed the flashlight to his cousin.
“Keep this on me if you can,” he said, and leaped overboard.
It was a heroic move to make, for the young major knew that he was taking his life in his hands. As the light shot through the flying spray, he caught a glimpse of the hands of the sailor a few yards away.
“Help! Help!” yelled Small. “Throw me a rope!”
“Keep up! I’m coming!” yelled Jack in return.
But at that instant Ira Small disappeared beneath a mountainous wave that rolled over both him and Jack and threatened to engulf the raft. It was more by luck than anything else that Jack reached the lanky sailor even before both of them came up to the top of the wave. Ira Small was beating the water feebly.
“I—I—got a—a cramp, or somethin’,” he spluttered. “It’s in—my legs. Save me, lad, save me!”
“Hold tight, and we’ll get back to the raft!” panted Jack. “I’ve got a rope under my arms. Can you hold yourself?”
“I—guess so, although that cramp is something terrible!” gasped the poor sailor, and Jack saw his mouth twist in agony.