The poor fellow’s look seemed fixed and staring, his arms refused their office, and Jack caught at him to try and support him. Then struggling vainly the water closed over his head, as his starting eyes saw the flashing of the water thrown up by six oars, and a figure standing leaning toward him, boat-hook in hand.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Not beaten yet.
“How are you, boy?”
The voice seemed to come from a great distance, and the face of the speaker looked far away, and yet his hand was being held in his father’s firm palm.
“Ah!” sighed Jack in answer. Then quickly, “Ned! Ned! Where’s Ned?”
“Safe here,” said Sir John. “In the boat. We were only just in time.”
“He’s coming to,” said another familiar voice. “Pull away, my lads. Well, Jack, old fellow, you’ve been carrying on a nice game. How are you? Glad to see you. No, no, lie back for a bit. We’ll soon have you on board.”