It was no time to stand idle. It was a steep path to the beach, but I got down somehow. The boat was still spitted on the rock, but the waters were dashing over it, threatening every moment to break it in pieces and toss the occupants into the sea.
I had kept hold of my flint-lock, but now I laid it down on the sand, at the same time casting off my sword belt. As I discarded my jacket and boots, the boat gave a lurch to one side, and I heard Lucille scream. I took one look, so I might know in which direction to swim, and I saw the sailor Simon as he leaped overboard and struck out for the beach. Then I plunged into the surf.
I waded out as far as I had my depth, and I saw Simon’s head bobbing up and down. I marked Sir George tearing away at some of the deck boards, which had split, and I guessed he was trying to form a raft. Lucille, for I saw her face clearly now, was clinging to the mast, her dark hair blowing about her face, while the salt spray dashed over her until she was drenched.
I had found Lucille, but in what a sorry plight. She was mine no more. My enemy had won her. All I might have was revenge on him; a poor exchange.
Sir George gave one glance in my direction, and then worked with great haste to tear up the planks. Perhaps he feared my vengeance would strike him in the waters, though I had other plans. Mayhap he grudged me any share in the rescue of Lucille, which both of us were striving for now. Noting all this in one brief glance I found the water above my head now, so I plunged forward, and was soon swimming amid the breakers.
It was hard work, indeed, to buffet those waves, and to avoid being cast against the rocks which abounded. How I did it, and came out scathless, I cannot tell. I know I managed to get near enough to the stern of the boat to grasp the rudder chains and pull myself aboard.
Slowly, for I was weary, I got over the rail, and found myself on the sloping deck, that every now and again was washed by the waves. Before the mast Sir George was lashing the planks he had torn up into the form of a rude raft.
“Greeting,” I said to him.
He started, as a man might, who hears a voice from the grave.
Then I went a little way farther until I stood before Lucille.