“Let me go, massa,” cried Tom, rapidly throwing off his clothes, and beginning, without further ado, to fasten the rope round his own waist. “Jis see him tight—not a slip-knot, massa. Tom Baraka swim tro’ worse seas dan dis on coast ob Africa, as you know. Stick de oar in de sand. Tie de rope to it, Massa Pack; you pay out, and off him go.”
And before the lieutenant or Ned had time to speak another word, the black had plunged into the foaming seas, dragging out the rope which the lieutenant quickly uncoiled. His dark head and back could be distinguished amid the surging foam, as he made his way through the breakers for some distance, when a huge wave rolling in beat him back almost to the beach. The lieutenant hauled in the rope, fearing that Tom’s legs might be entangled, but the brave black again sprang forward. He had, however, another danger besides the sea to encounter. Already broken spars, planks, and masses of timber, with bales of all sorts, were being hurled on shore, and a blow from some heavy piece of wreck might in an instant disable him. It seemed useless indeed to proceed further; not a human being was likely to have remained alive on the shattered wreck. Probably the larger number were drowned when the boat was upset. Another sea, still fiercer than the former, rushing on with a loud roar, again drove Tom back.
“We must haul in the rope,” cried the lieutenant. “I cannot let the brave fellow further risk his life.”
But once more it was found that Tom was dragging out the rope.
“I heard a cry, and I fancy I see some one not far from. Tom,” exclaimed Edward. “Yes, yes! he is making towards the man. Ah, I fear he has missed him; no, he has hold of him. Haul away, uncle, haul away; let me go and help him, there’s rope enough to spare,” and Ned, securing the slack end of the rope under his arms and seizing the spare oar, dashed forward in time to grasp the man just as the black, exhausted by his exertions, was on the point of letting him go. Another wave breaking at the moment, and hissing as it rushed back in a sheet of foam over the beach, would have swept away the almost rescued man, but Edward, planting his oar deep in the sand, held on while the lieutenant was engaged in hauling Tom out of danger, hastening, the moment he had done so, to assist his nephew in landing the stranger. The latter still breathed, and attempted to raise himself from the sand, though unable to speak.
“You attend to him, Ned, while I look after Tom,” said the lieutenant.
The black, however, required no assistance. He proposed, indeed, to again swim off on the chance of finding some other human being struggling for life; but this the lieutenant would not allow. Already the breakers were covered with masses of wreck, amid which not a single person could be seen, though they looked out eagerly, Tom pressing into the seething foam as far as he dared venture, while the lieutenant held up the lantern as a signal to any strong swimmer who might successfully have buffeted with the waves; but he did so with little hope of success. Every now and then he looked round, uttering an exclamation of regret at the non-appearance of the coast-guard, though, had they arrived, it was evident that they would be too late to be of use.
The sea continued to cast up fragments of wreck and cargo on the beach, but the lieutenant and Tom searched in vain for any of their fellow-creatures to whom they might render assistance.
“No use waiting longer, I fear,” shouted the lieutenant. “I’ll go and look after the man we have saved; the sooner we get him under shelter the better, or he’ll be perishing of cold.”
“Me stop just a little longer,” answered the black.