Bayard’s strangling lips move:—
“Now Almighty Father, Maker of Heaven and Earth”—
There were mad shouts upon the beach. A score of iron hands held to the line; and fifty men said to their souls: “That is a hero’s deed.” Some one flung the rest of the pailful of tar upon the fire, and it blazed up. The swimmer saw the yellow color touch the comber that broke above his head. The rope tightened like the hand of death upon his chest. Caught, perhaps? Ah, there! It has grazed the reef, and the teeth of the rock are gnawing at it; so a mastiff gnaws at the tether of his chained foe, to have the fight out unimpeded.
“If it cuts through, I am gone,” thought Bayard.—“And Jesus Christ Thy Son, our Lord and Saviour.”—
“Haul in! Haul in, I say! Quick! Haul ’em in for life’s sake, boys!—She tautens to the weight of two. The parson’s got him!”
The old captain jumped up and down on the pebbles like a boy. Wet and glittering, through hands of steel, the line sped in.
“Does she hold? Is she cut? Haul in, haul in, haul in!”
The men broke into one of their sudden, natural choruses, moving rhythmically to the measure of their song:—
“Pull for the shore, sailor,
Pull for the shore!”
As he felt his feet touch bottom, Bayard’s strength gave way. Men ran out as far as they could stand in the undertow, and seized and held and dragged—some the rescuer, some the rescued; and so they all came dripping up the beach.