The boys on the raft saw that he was. They had caught sight of the white face as it rose for the second time to the surface. And they stood there, transfixed horrified, at the tragedy that was taking place before them. Unable to find the punting-pole, Harry would have leapt into the river, but Sedgefield, one of the "savages" who had jumped upon the raft, was just in time to clutch him by the arm and hold him back.
"Look, Moncrief! That's Percival, isn't it?"
Harry stood, trembling in every limb, on the edge of the raft, and followed the direction of Sedgefield's finger. Yes, Percival it was. Cut off from the games of his companions, left entirely to himself, he had brought out his rod and line to pass an hour or so angling. While thus occupied, he had heard the shouts and cries raised by the "savages" on the opposite bank.
"What's wrong?" he asked himself, as he stood quite still and listened.
The shouting grew louder; the yells more unearthly, and in a tongue, as it seemed to him, he had never heard before.
Dropping his rod, he raced along the bank, just in time to to see from a distance the raft push off with the boys upon it, and the disaster that followed, as it floated further into the stream. He paused for an instant as he breathlessly watched the scene; then raced forward at full speed, flung off his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, and struck out, hand over hand, to where Hibbert was struggling in the water.
Fortunately, Paul was a powerful swimmer. Even in his cradle his father had taken his little hand in his large one, and, while looking lovingly in his face, had said to the wife who sat beside him:
"The son of a sea-dog, the son of a sea-dog! He must never know the fear of water."
Alas! it was the cruel water which had carried off the father, but the son had grown up true to his wish—he had never known the fear of water. So he had become a bold and powerful swimmer. With a swift, sweeping side-stroke he reached Hibbert's side, just as he was sinking for the last time. Clutching the drowning boy by the hair, he held him up; then, turning on his back, he drew him to his chest, and, kicking out with his feet, soon reached the bank.
Placing the boy gently on the turf, Paul gazed anxiously into his face. The eyes were closed; the lips ghastly blue; the heart seemed still.