“Quick, sir,” cried Bob, “he’s holding on by the hawser, whoever he is;” and fully satisfied in his own mind that one of the soldiers had been bathing, and had been swept down by the current, he called out to the swimmer to hold on, but only to hear once more the one hoarse cry, “Help!” and with it a gurgling noise where the bright stars were broken up into a forked stream of tiny points.
So eager was he to cry out to the drowning man that help was coming, that he missed the chance of going himself, but leaned over the bows as the captain’s gig, manned with a ready little crew, kissed the water, was unhooked, and ran swiftly along the side; then the oars splashed, and the little, light boat was rapidly rowed to where the great hawser was made fast.
It was so dark that Bob could only dimly make out the round buoy, towards which the gig passed over the water like a shadow.
“Can you see him?” cried the lieutenant, who was once more by Bob Roberts’ side.
“No, sir; there’s no one here,” said the bow-man.
“Help! help!” came in a hoarse whisper just then, exactly below where the two officers leaned over; and they saw that a dark face that had risen to the surface was being swept quickly along by the steamer’s side.
“Quick, my lads, here he is! Stern all!” cried the lieutenant; and the light gig was backed rapidly in quest of the drowning man; while Bob ran aft as hard as he could go, and climbed out into the mizzen chains, to stare down into the swift current, holding on by one hand.
But he could see nothing, and he was beginning, with throbbing heart, to believe that he was too late—that the wretched man had been swept away before he climbed over, when he caught sight of something just below the surface.
“Here, boat, quick!” he cried; and the bow-man struck his hook into the side, and sent the gig flying through the water.
“Where, sir? where?” cried he in the hoarse voice of Dick.