I believe I made other trials, but a curious sensation of weakness and confusion was coming over me, as I uttered one after the other my loud cries for help.
It was horrible, and yet it seemed ridiculous that we two lads could not struggle up there into safety; but though I thought so then, I have often felt since that in my cramped position I was loaded down, as it were, with my companion’s weight.
The end seemed to be coming fast. I had no dread for myself, since I felt that, once free of Mercer’s tight clutch and the hold I had upon him, I could grasp the far edge of the woodwork, draw myself farther up, and sit and rest. But before I could do this I knew that he would have sunk away from me, and in a confused fashion I began to wonder whether I should hear him scream out as he was drowning, or whether he would sink down gently without a sound.
I shouted again, but my voice sounded weak, and as if it did not penetrate the trees which closed us in, and now it seemed to be all over, for the horrible sense of faintness was returning fast, and I made one more desperate effort before I felt that I too was going to sink back into the black water; and in that wild last fit of energy I uttered what was quite a shriek, and then felt half choked by the spasm of joy that seemed to rise into my throat.
For from quite close at hand there came quite a cheery,—
“Hillo!”
“Here—quick—help!” I gasped; and then I was silent, and hearing a loud ejaculation, as I felt the wood of the penstock tremble.
“All right. Hold tight, lad,” said a familiar voice, and a hand grasped my collar. “I’ve got you, and I’ve got him too. Here, can you climb out?”
“If—if you can hold him,” I said.
“I can hold him, and give you a help too. That’s the way—get tight hold of the edge, draw yourself up. Well done. Now sit down, and put your arm round the post.”