“Oh, it must be fifty yards away, and they’re going down. The men don’t try.”
“It seems so to us, but they must be rowing their best. Are they getting near now?”
“I don’t think so, and—and I can’t see anybody. Oh! how horrible. Pull, pull!”
“Hush?” said Russell. “I can’t see, but the boat must be between us and the men. How was it all?”
“I don’t quite understand, but the black seemed to try and save the man overboard. Don’t—don’t speak! I want to see. Oh, if I only had a glass. Mine’s below.”
“Can you see them now?” said Russell, in a faint whisper.
“No, no, this is dreadful,” groaned Mark; “they are so far-off, but I can see the boat. Yes, they are pulling hard now. No; they have ceased rowing, and two men are standing up now, and—too late—too late.”
“Hurray!” came faintly from the distance, where the shades of the fast-falling tropical night had rendered the boat nearly invisible. The cheer was echoed from on board with a tremendous shout, as the distant cry rose again.
“There, they have saved them, Mr Russell,” cried Mark excitedly.
“Hah!” came in a low, deep sigh, as the lieutenant’s legs gave way beneath him, and he would have fallen if it had not been for the sudden action of Mark, who held the poor fellow’s arms pressed down over the rail as he called for help.