“There they are, sir, ever so far along. The Captain’s got old Parry, and Mr Drummond’s swimming to his side to help him. You’ll do it now, sir. Slow strokes wins. Feel better?”
“Yes. I was half-strangled.”
“Then it’s all right, sir.”
“But the enemy?” panted Bracy, trying to look round.
“Never you mind them, sir. They’re far enough off now, and can only get a shot now and then. River windles so. We’re going ever so much faster than they can get through the woods. Ain’t this jolly, sir? Done my ankle a sight o’ good. I allus did like the water, on’y sojers’ togs ain’t made to swim in.”
“I can’t see any one in pursuit,” said Bracy at the end of a minute.
“Don’t you keep trying to look, sir. You’ve got enough to do to swim.”
“I’m getting right again now, Gedge, and I think I can help you.”
“What! to keep him up, sir? I don’t want no help while he’s like this; but if he comes to again and begins his games you might ketch him one in the ear. Chaps as thinks they’re drowning is the silliest old idgits there is. ’Stead o’ keeping still and their pads under water, they shoves them right up to try and ketch hold o’ the wind or anything else as is near. ’Spose they can’t help it, though. Hullo! look yonder, sir. Rocks and shaller water. Think we could get right across now?”
For a shout now reached them from fifty yards or so lower down, where their three companions in misfortune were standing knee-deep in mid-stream, and a rugged mass of rocks rose to divide the river and towered up twenty or thirty feet, forming a little rugged island about twice as long. Bracy’s spirits, which were very low, rose now at the sight of Roberts and Drummond helping the other private up into safety, and turning directly to offer them the same aid if they could manage to get within reach.