Again and again cries were heard. Owen proposed starting off to guide them to the only spot where safety could be found, but Mike and Nat entreated him not to make the attempt. Indeed it was evident that he would run great risk of being lost. Already the white foam could be seen through the darkness like masses of snow sweeping over the intermediate space between them and the camp, where the ground was apparently of a somewhat lower level.
Although possibly their companions were on somewhat higher ground, yet at any moment the sea might sweep over it. The three shouted and shouted again. At last they heard voices crying out in reply, but it was too dark to enable them to distinguish any one. All this time the boat, their tent, and the flagstaff were running great risk of being carried away. But the preservation of their fellow-creatures was of more consequence than anything else. At length they caught sight of a figure emerging from the gloom, rushing through the seething water which swept by him. The party on the sand-bank shouted to encourage him. Now he stopped, afraid of being carried off his legs.
“On, on!” shouted Owen, who had brought from the tent a long line of tolerable thickness.
“Hold on to this,” he cried to Mike and Nat. “I will fasten it round my waist, and should any of the men be knocked down, I will try and save them.”
Such appeared very likely to happen to the person they saw approaching them. Already he seemed half covered with foam. Again, however, the sea receded, and taking courage he rushed forward, and Owen, catching him in his arms, dragged him up. He proved to be the carpenter’s mate. Just then two more people appeared, making their way towards the beacon-fire. They were followed by a third, who quickly overtook them, and pushing on without hesitation soon reached the bank. Owen recognised Mr Scoones.
“I am glad you are safe, sir,” said Owen.
“No thanks to these fellows, for no one roused me when they saw the sea breaking close up to their feet.”
Of the two other men who were making their way, one hesitated, while the other, following the example of the mate, rushed boldly forward. He was within a few yards of the bank, when the sea, sweeping by as it receded, rose up to his middle. He vainly attempted to stem it; he was lifted off his feet, and was being hurried out among the breakers when Owen, springing forward into the receding water as it swept round the sand-bank, caught him by the arm, and they were both pulled up by their companions.
“Thank you, sir,” said the man, whose name was Bill Pratt, generally called Bill, and who was a well-conducted fellow when sober. “I owe you a good turn for this, Mr Hartley.”
The mate and the other men had thrown themselves down, overcome by their exertions. The fourth man was yet some distance off, and as another sea came rolling up, he was lifted off his feet. He shrieked wildly for help, but had he been even a good swimmer no strength of arm could have saved him.