"Stand by to lower the boat!" roars the Captain. "Be alive now!"
As if moved by a single impulse, the men spring at once to the davits; but, luckily for poor Jack, other and nearer help is at hand. The Arab, when he sees his rival's strength fail so suddenly, guesses in a moment what is the matter, and makes for him at once. Three powerful strokes bring him alongside of the sinking man, and twining his sinewy fingers in Jack's bushy hair, he holds the latter's head above water, paddling gently meanwhile to keep himself afloat.
"Stand by your tackle! let go!"
The tackles rattle sharply through the blocks, the boat splashes into the water, and the passengers spring upon the bulwarks to give her a cheer as she darts away toward the two imperilled men, as fast as eight sturdy rowers can propel her.
But in this race between life and death the chances are terribly in favor of the latter. True, the water of the lake, salter by far than the sea itself, is buoyant as India rubber; but it is no easy matter for the Arab, already spent with his long swim, to support the huge bulk of the helpless sailor, and the boat seems still a fearfully long way off.
Once, twice, the Englishman's head dips below the surface, and the oarsmen almost leap from their seats as they see it. Pull, boys, pull! And now they are but three lengths off, and now but one, and now, with a deafening hurrah, the fainting man and his exhausted rescuer are dragged into the boat.
"Come, boys," cried Lieutenant H——, "that's a plucky fellow, Arab or no Arab. What do you say to sending round the hat for him; here's a rupee" (fifty cents) "to begin with."
And half an hour later the Arab was on his way back to the shore, with more money tied up in the white cotton sash round his waist than he had ever had before, in his life.