Smith saw him, and made, a pass to catch him with the oar; but the old fellow drifted out of reach. The second officer swung the boat as far as possible toward him; but still he could not reach the figure that showed floating for a few moments in the darkness. Then Miss Roberts, who was close to the stern sheets, spoke up.
"Oh, the pity of it, the pity of that old man dying like this! Will no one save him?" she cried.
Her companion sat up.
"There's no one aboard here who can do anything but bully us women. If we had a man here, we might save him. I would jump after him myself, but I can't swim. It's horrible to see him drown right alongside of us in this darkness."
Smith heard and smiled grimly. He was tired out, sore, and almost exhausted, but he was full of pluck and fight still. To drop the steering oar might prove fatal if a comber struck the boat. He called to the stroke oarsman who took the oar. Smith took the stern line, gave a turn about a cork jacket that lay upon the seat, and then over the side he went, calling the men to haul him in when he gave the word.
The affair had only taken a few moments, and the form of the old fellow was hardly under the surface. Smith floundered to him; but, being a poor swimmer, as most sailors are, he was quite exhausted when he finally grabbed him. Instead of easing on the line, he hung dead upon it, hardly able to keep his face out of the sea. The girls watched him over the gunwales, but keeping their places. Two men started to haul him in without waiting for a signal; and they hove upon the line with a right good will. It was old and dry-rotted, as most lines in lifeboats are, and it parted.
Smith felt the slack, and knew what it meant. The cork jacket held him above the surface, and he looked at the boat which seemed so far away in the darkness, but in reality was only a few fathoms. Yet it was too far for him to make it again. It meant his death, his ending.
He tried to swim, but the exertion of the day had been too much. His efforts were weak and ill-directed, and he floundered weakly about, drifting farther away all the time.
The stroke oarsman called for another line. There was none except that of the drag. It would not do to haul it in. The boat was doing all she could now to keep herself afloat, and to risk her broadside in the sea might be fatal for all hands.
Miss Roberts begged some one to go to the officer's assistance. Smith seemed to hear and understand. He floundered with more vigor. There was not a man among the boat's crew who dared to go over the side in the night. There was nothing more to do but watch and hope that the second mate would finally make it. But he did not. He struggled on for many minutes. They could see him now and then fighting silently in the night. He still seemed to hold the old man with one hand.