On reaching the ravine, he flung himself into it, and soon reached the sea-level below.
Without pausing, he turned along the shore, rushing over sand and shingle, over sharp ledges, and making his way among boulders slippery with seaweed.
He reached the abutment that flanked one side of the cove, from which he could now again hear the cries of distress, mingled with the hoarse shrieking of the sea.
To wade round the point was plainly impossible. The water was neck-deep, seething and swelling.
Kicking off his boots, and throwing his gun, cap, and coat upon a ledge, he plunged in, and commenced a struggle with the billows.
It cost him one—his life nearly. Twice was his body borne against the rock with fearful violence—each time receiving injury in the shock.
He succeeded in rounding the point and reaching the cove beyond, where the swell broke more smoothly upon a sloping bed.
He now swam with ease; and soon stood in the presence of the bathers, who, at sight of him, had ceased their cries, believing their danger at an end.
All were within the grotto, to which they had retreated, as offering the highest ground. For all this, they were up to the ankles in water!
At his approach they rushed out, wading knee-deep to meet him.