The Moondarra was turning in a great circle, her railing black with people. Women were clustering round the two mothers, who stood silently watching the sea that was fighting out beyond for the little lives; and there were men holding back Mr. Warner, who could swim scarcely at all, but had been in the very act of flinging himself over the rail when an officer caught him. "If Flanagin and the other fellow can't get them, no one can," the crisp voice said. "You'll only complicate matters if you go in." And after that Bobby's father stood still, gripping at the rail, not feeling the hands that held him mechanically.
The long moments dragged themselves away—how long they seemed, first from the time that the two little heads had been a tiny speck together on the sea, and then until the other heads and the long, clean overarm strokes had forged through the water towards them! Then, longest of all came the terse waiting while the boat, lowered with swift dexterity, reached the water—the waiting oars ready to pull the instant she touched—the straining muscles flinging themselves into each stroke that sent her flying across the long green swells. A sudden, broken cheer came from the ship, mingled with a woman's sobbing cry.
"Oh, they have them, they have them!"
The two mothers, silent yet, caught at each other's hands. Beyond, strong arms were lifting the boys together into the boat; then, strain their eyes as they might, they could see nothing, for two sailors were working over the little figures, wrapping them in rugs; they had to loosen Dick's fingers by force from Bobby's jersey. Others were hauling the rescuers on board, the boat turning even as they were pulled in; and then she came racing back to the ship. On the bridge the captain glanced at his watch, with a flash of professional pride.
"Seven minutes from the time of the alarm—not bad going!" he said.
The cheering broke out again as the boat swung alongside, and then died out uncertainly. Was it a time to cheer? The little muffled figures lay still and stiff, white faces upturned to the towering ship. Mr. Warner's heart seemed to stand still as the doctor suddenly tapped him on the shoulder.
"Bring your wife and Mrs. Lester to the hospital," he said. "I have everything ready."
A hush seemed to fall upon the ship, long after the boat had been hauled slowly upwards, and waiting arms had received the motionless bundles and borne them swiftly to the hospital. The steady beat of the re-awakened engines bore the Moondarra westward; but on the decks passengers stood about in little knots, with their eyes ever wandering to the doorway behind which the dripping procession had disappeared. The captain came out once, shaking his head at the eager inquiries.
"Both unconscious," he said. "I'm afraid——" and stopped.
There was a sick hush on the decks as the Bishop—no longer playful—came forward, holding up his hand for silence.