“How many are there?”
“Seven, sir—in main-top. Half-dead.”
“You should have stayed and brought them off,” cried Leslie frantically, for he did not realise the difficulties of the task the men had had to fulfil.
“Who goes next?” cried Van Heldre, as the half-drowned men were borne, under the direction of the doctor, to the nearest inn.
“No one can’t go again, sir,” said the old coxswain sternly. “It arn’t to be done.”
“A crew must go again,” cried Van Heldre. “We cannot stand here and let them perish before our eyes. Here, my lads!” he roared. “Volunteers!”
“Mr Leslie! My father,” whispered Madelaine; but the young mine-owner was already on his way to where Van Heldre stood.
“Do you hear?” roared the latter. “Do as you would be done by. Volunteers!”
Not a man stirred, the peril was too great.
“It’s no good, master,” said the old coxswain; “they’re gone, poor lads, by now.”