“No,” cried Leslie excitedly; “the light is there still.”
“Ay,” said the coxswain, “a lamp ’ll burn some time longer than a man’s life. Here, master, I’ll go again, if you can get a crew.”
“Volunteers!” shouted Van Heldre, but there was only a confused babble of voices, as women clung to their men and held back those who would have yielded.
“Are you men!” roared Leslie excitedly; and Madelaine felt her arm grasped tightly. “I say, are you men, to stand there and see those poor fellows perish before your eyes!”
“It’s throwing lives away,” cried a shrill woman’s voice.
“Ay, go yoursen,” shouted a man angrily. “I’m going,” roared Leslie. “Only a landsman. Now then, is there never a sailor who will come?”
There was a panting, spasmodic cry at Madelaine’s ear, one which she echoed, as Harry Vine stepped up to Leslie’s side.
“Here’s another landsman,” he cried excitedly. “Now, Pradelle, come on!”
There was no response from his companion, who drew back.
“No, no,” panted Madelaine. “Louie—help me—they must not go.”