This caused such a complete revolution in Paul’s emotion that for an instant he was confused. Like many a landsman, with little fear of the water itself, yet with little or no practice at sea, the simplest nautical phrase was apt to convey confused ideas. He could not on the instant remember whether he should look forward or aft (as in a theatre) to determine port from starboard on board ship, and as usual rushed over to the wrong side. The light was bad, the moon shone the wrong way to see clearly, he rushed back again, leaned over the hand rail and thought he saw something bobbing about on the water, but was not sure—only an instant, then could distinguish the waving arms of some one struggling. The figure was yet ahead, but approaching, not quite near yet, but about to pass as he looked on.
The situation was painfully dramatic, but from the deck as Paul saw it not so perilous if actions were prompt.
“Where are those life preservers?” and with pocket-knife he cut one loose and threw it overboard, then a second, and some smaller cork-floats. Why several? He did not stop to think, for another cry, this time from the deep, reached his ear, the cry of a drowning man. It came sharp on the night air, like a personal appeal, and so sounded to Paul—a personal appeal, for none could have now heard it as clearly as he.
This was more than Paul could stand without making instant response. Two more rips of the knife blade, this time on his own shoe-strings, off went the shoes, then coat and waistcoat.
He answered with his college call, “All right, old fellow!” then sprang on the hand rail and plunged headlong into the ocean, a clear dive from the deck outwards, to find the drowning man.
None but a deck hand caught a glimpse of the youthful figure springing into space, of course too late for him to interfere. “Two overboard!” cried the sailor promptly, then giving vent to his own reflections, “Some blasted fool who wants to do the thing hisself!” mumbling as he went forward to report.
Increased excitement, passengers calling for help.
“Where was the other man?” exclaimed several voices among a group coming aft to the new center of interest. “Where?”
“There, ma’am!” said the deck hand, pointing; “he left his boots.”
“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Miss Winchester. “Oh, Adele, what a legacy! Just think of it, boots!”