I knew where he had fallen, from the direction in which all eyes were turned. A life-buoy had already been thrown, and the usual hurried orders were being issued.
From out of the dark depths of the sea I thought I could hear my brother’s voice, as I had heard it once before, in innocent pleading tones, when he was a child—
“Come to me, Jack, come to me; I cannot come to you.”
Next moment I was in the water, and the ship was some distance off. She seemed to move so fast away.
Here was the life-buoy. In my anguish I dashed it aside. I could support my brother. Many a time I had done so in the waves before our cottage door at home.
I felt glad the ship had gone, with her noise and bustling decks. I could listen.
“Jill,” I shouted, “coo-ee! Jill, I’m here.”
Then, to my joy, a faint answering shout came down the wind.
On—on—on I swam. Taking desperate strokes. Shouting one moment, listening the next.
At last, at last.