Wingate has meanwhile also boarded, grappled on to the other on foot, and is threatening to serve him the same.
A plunge, with a wild cry—the man going down like a stone; another, as he comes up among his own bubbles; and a third, yet wilder, as he feels himself sinking for the second time!
The two at the oars, scared into a sort of sobriety, one of them cries out—
“Lor’ o’ mercy! Rob’ll be drownded! He can’t sweem a stroke.”
“He’s a-drownin’ now!” adds the other.
It is true. For Rob has again come to the surface, and shouts with feebler voice, while his arms tossed frantically about tell of his being in the last throes of suffocation!
Ryecroft looks regretful—rather alarmed. In chastising the fellow he had gone too far. He must save him!
Quick as the thought off goes his coat, with his boots kicked into the bottom of the boat; then himself over its side!
A splendid swimmer, with a few bold sweeps he is by the side of the drowning man. Not a moment too soon—just as the latter is going down for the third—likely the last time. With the hand of the officer grasping his collar, he is kept above water. But not yet saved. Both are now imperilled—the rescuer and he he would rescue. For, far from the boats, they have drifted into a dangerous eddy, and are being whirled rapidly round!
A cry from Gwen Wynn—a cry of real alarm, now—the first she has uttered! But before she can repeat it, her fears are allayed—set to rest again—at sight of still another rescuer. The young waterman has leaped back to his own boat, and is pulling straight for the strugglers. A few strokes, and he is beside them; then, dropping his oars, he soon has both safe in the skiff.