He kept the blaze of his lantern on Bennet's face and then turned it on Wesley, whom he appeared to recognise.
“In Heaven's name, sir, what's this?” he cried.
“Take no thought for us,” said Wesley. “Here lies a poor wretch washed ashore. Give me your help to bring back life to him. No moment must be lost—the loss of a minute may mean the loss of his life.”
He was already kneeling beside the prostrate figure. The Preventive man followed his example. They both exclaimed in one voice:
“He is alive!”
“God be thanked,” said Wesley solemnly. “I feared——”
“You have treated him with skill, sir,” said the man. “You did not give him a dram?”
“I have only been here a few minutes; the saving; of him from drowning is not due to me,” said Wesley.
The man had his ration of rum in his knapsack, and was administering it, Bennet standing by without a word.
“We must get help to carry him to the nearest house,” said the Preventive man.