The crowd had almost reached the quay, and in thirty seconds all would be lost; but in good time I heard Robbins’ cheery voice over the edge of the stringpiece shouting:
“Ready, Morgan! Jump for it, man!”
And I jumped.
CHAPTER XII.
THE LAST RESORT.
The native boatmen made a rush at the last instant, encouraged by the near proximity of their fellows; but they missed me by ten feet.
I landed in the stern of the boat, just where Robbins had intended I should.
He already had the oars in his hands, having severed the painter with his knife, and instantly bent his broad back with a swoop that might have done credit to a champion sculler getting away from the starting line.
We moved—open water appeared between the boat and the landing stage. Thank Heaven! we were off!
It was too early to crow; there were other boats, and some of those fellows could row even as well as the muscular mate.