They ran out and, catching her beneath the shoulders, bore her safe and high through the small rollers. When they were waist-deep, the boat swung near. A lantern was raised by the man in the bows, and under that light they saw the four men at the oars, now backing water to keep their boat from washing to the beach. The sailors cheered as the two men swung Kate over the gunwale and then clambered in after her. The man at the bows all this time had kept his lantern high above his head with a rigid arm, and now he bellowed: "Black McTee!"
"Right!" said McTee. "And you?"
"Salvain—put back for the ship, lads—Pietro Salvain. D'you mean to say you've forgotten me?"
"Shanghai!" said McTee, as light broke on his memory. "What a night that was."
"But you—"
"The Mary Rogers took a header for Davy Jones's locker; first mate drunk and ran her on a reef; all hands went under except the three of us; we drifted to this island."
"Black McTee shipwrecked! By God, if we get to port with our old tramp,
I'll get a farm and stick to dry land."
"Your ship?"
"The Heron, four thousand tons, White Henshaw, skipper."
"White Henshaw?" cried McTee in almost reverent tones.