“That’s a ship; she’s standing directly down upon us,” cried Martin. “Shout, lads, shout at the tops of your voices.”
We all shrieked out, joining Martin’s deep bass, which rose above the howling of the storm. The next instant there came a crash, our boat had been run down, but before she sank, having been happily struck by the bow, and not by the stern of the ship, we found ourselves alongside, when Martin, seizing me by the arm and catching hold of the fore-chains, hauled me up as the boat disappeared beneath our feet. We hung there for a few seconds before we were discovered, though I caught sight of several figures leaning over the side. I uttered a cry of sorrow as I thought that my two friends were lost. In vain I looked down for them. The next instant several willing hands assisted Martin and me on board.
“Oh, save Dick and Lancelot,” I cried out. “Lower a boat; pick them up; don’t let them perish.”
My heart bounded with joy when I heard Lancelot’s voice.
“Here I am, safe and sound,” he cried out, running forward and shaking me by the hand, “thanks to our friends here, who hove me a rope just as I was sinking.”
“And Dick, where is Dick?” I said.
“The youngster is on board, but he got a knock on the head. He’s coming round though,” said a voice from the afterpart of the ship.
Martin, Lancelot, and I hurried aft, where we found Dick lying on the deck, supported by a seaman, who seemed as wet as he was. We were told that the gallant fellow had fastened a rope round his waist, plunged overboard and picked up Dick just as he was being washed by astern. Dick quickly came to.
“Where is the boat!” he asked, lifting up his head.
“She’s gone to the bottom,” answered Lancelot.