“Keep it up, sir,” cried Gedge, who was swimming hard, “or we shall be swep’ one way or t’other. It’ll be nigh as a touch, for the water shoots off jolly swift.”
Bracy had needed no telling, and he exerted all his strength to keep so that they might strike the shallows where the island was worn by the fierce torrent to a sharp edge, for to swim a foot or two to the left meant being carried towards the side of the enemy, while to the right was into swifter water rushing by the island with increased force.
“Stick to it, sir,” cried Gedge. “Side-stroke, sir. No fear o’ not keeping afloat. That’s your sort. We shall do it. Ah!”
Gedge’s last cry was one of rage and disappointment, for, in spite of their efforts, just as they seemed to be within a few feet of the point at which they aimed, they found themselves snatched as it were by the under-current, and, still holding to their half-drowned companion, they would have been carried past but for a brave effort made by Roberts, who was prepared for the emergency. By stepping out as far as he dared, holding by Drummond’s long arm, and reaching low, he caught Gedge’s extended hand.
The shock was sharp, and he went down upon his face in the water; but Drummond held on, the little knot of struggling men swung round to the side, and in another minute they were among the rocks, where they regained their feet, and drew the insensible private up on to dry land.
“That was near,” said Roberts, who was breathless from exertion. “Hurt, Drummond?”
“Oh no, not at, all,” was the laughing reply. “I never did lie on the rack, having my arms torn out of the sockets; but it must have been something like this.”
“I’m very sorry,” cried Roberts.
“Oh, I’m not, old man. How are you, Bracy—not hit?”
“No, no; I shall be all right directly. Thank you, old chaps, for saving us. Never mind me; try and see to this poor fellow. I’m afraid he’s drowned.”