They ran along the bank together, keeping pace with the craft which was sliding away fast with the stream. Nasmyth could feel his heart thumping as he wondered what Clarence would do. Though he could not cross the river, it was possible that he might propel the light canoe back to the shingle with his hand before he reached the rapid. As he could not guide her in the strong rush of water, there would be danger in attempting to descend it. He made no response, however, to their warning shouts.
Batley and Crestwick overtook the others shortly before the canoe swept into the faster stream at the head of the rapid and they watched her eagerly. There was a narrow pass between several boulders close ahead, which was the chief danger, and the current seemed to be carrying the craft down on one of them. In a few moments she struck and jambed, broadside on, across the mass of stone. White foam boiled about her; they saw Gladwyne rise and clutch the rock, but whether to thrust her off or to climb out did not appear. He suddenly sank down and, so far as they could make out, the canoe rolled over.
The next moment Lisle plunged into the river. Nasmyth ran to the water’s edge, but seeing that he was too late, he sat down limply. Lisle was a good swimmer, but it did not seem possible that any man could reach Clarence before he was washed out at the tail of the rapid. It became evident, however, that somebody else meant to try, for Batley, running hard down the beach, plunged in.
“It’s awful!” gasped Jim Crestwick behind Nasmyth. “It’s not the risk of drowning; they’ll be smashed to bits! Anyway, we’d better make for the slack at the tail.”
Nasmyth got up. He could see nothing of Gladwyne or either of the others; there were only black rocks, rushing water and outbreaks of foam, and he had a sickening idea that long before they reached the quieter pool the need for any services he could render would be past. Fortunately, the beach was fairly smooth, and after a desperate run they reached a tongue of rock beneath which the eddy swung. Farther on, in the shadow, Batley stood in the water, calling to them and apparently clinging hard to a half-seen object in the stream.
Nasmyth leaped in knee-deep, with Crestwick behind him, and gripping the loosely-hanging arm of the body Batley was supporting, he asked hoarsely:
“Who is it?”
“Lisle!” was the breathless answer. “Help me to get him out!”
They dragged him up the beach and let him sink down. He lay upon the shingle, silent and inert.
“Make a fire, Jim!” commanded Batley. “Lift his shoulder a bit, Nasmyth! Turn him partly over!”