Once more Murray felt right through his brain every movement of the big sailor as he began to wade, holding the cutter’s bows nipped between his arm and his broad chest; and as the boat began to move the middy felt among the boughs and twigs with the blade of his oar to such good effect that at the risk of breakage he turned the oar into a lever which slightly helped to move the boat’s head from its position.
“Good!” grunted Tom May softly, and he thrust away steadily a little and a little, while the two who held the stout ash blades on the other side began to back-water.
“Good!” grunted Tom again, and, as if in answer, Bang! Bang! came from the shore, and a couple of splashing sounds rose from the woodwork where the bullets struck.
“All together,” whispered Murray, as he bent forward and got a fresh hold of the boughs, while to his intense satisfaction he felt that the man behind him had got a good grip too, and the boat’s head was thrust farther and farther away.
“Good!” grunted Tom May again, and Murray could not refrain from uttering a low Hurrah! for at his next bending forward his oar cut down into the water so that he got a good hold and pulled with all his might—steadily too.
“Back-water hard!” he panted, and the men whose oars dipped on the other side thrust with all their might.
“Hooray!” came now from the man behind Murray. “I’ve got water!”
“Then pull all you know,” panted Tom May as he gave the boat’s head what he intended to be one last tremendous thrust, “for you’ve got it all your own way now.”
“No, no,” whispered Murray excitedly. “Keep on, Tom!”
“Can’t, sir,” said the man, with a low hiss. “I’m off the bottom. Pull all!” he shouted now, and Murray felt the boat lose its trim, and sank over on his side bending down, knowing full well now that the brave fellow was heaving himself up so as to get over and seize an oar.