Not a moment was to be lost, and with a prayer upon his lip, he leaped as far out in the boiling waves as was possible, and like Captain Cole, struck straight for shore, with all the strength at his command, dreading each moment to receive a crushing blow from the mast or one of the spars.
He escaped this, but he found it almost impossible to prevent himself from strangling, as he seemed to be under water nearly all the time.
But he struggled bravely as long as power remained. He could see the black rocks gleaming wet and cheerless near him; dim figures of men upon the beach—something like a shout—then all was blackness of darkness—and he knew nothing.
Was this death?
CHAPTER XX.
CONCLUSION.
As Harry Northend found himself battling with the billows, he struggled manfully and heroically; for like every young, hopeful boy, he had everything to live for. His life preserver kept him from sinking, but it could not prevent the crests from curling over his head, and in this way, when he was comparatively a short distance from shore, he became bewildered, confused and strangled, and lost consciousness at the moment when only a few sturdy strokes were needed to carry him safely to land.
But here were a number who were watching his movements ready to give what assistance they could, the moment they could gain the opportunity to do so.
Little Rifle and her father succeeded in reaching land, without difficulty, and she was little exhausted. The moment she felt the solid land beneath her, she turned about to see what had become of her friend Harry Northend. For one moment, she thought he was gone, but the next instant he rose to view on the crest of a wave, and she saw that he was struggling for life.
As he was drifting down the coast, the eight or ten persons on the beach hurried down, so as to keep opposite, and to be ready to lend a hand the moment it could be done.
“Oh, if we had a rope!” exclaimed Little Rifle, as she saw how vainly her lover was struggling, “we might save him.”