“The captain is gone,” cried several voices.
“I see a man close at hand,” said Peter. “Will any one pass a rope round my waist? I am sure I could clutch him.”
There were several ropes scattered about the rock. Old Hixon did not hear Peter, but two or three of the other men did. One of them fastened a rope as he requested. While they held on, Peter sprung off from the rock into the water close to where the person he saw was floating. He clutched him tightly. The next sea which came roaring up would have clashed him against the rock, and his burden must have been torn from him had not his companions, roused by the example set by the young boy, whom they had been in the habit of laughing at, rushed forward and dragged them both up together.
“It is the captain,” cried one. “But I am afraid he is gone,” exclaimed another.
“No! I trust he is still alive,” said Peter, sitting down by the captain’s side, and taking his head on his lap. “He is breathing; he will come to, I hope.”
Peter rubbed the captain’s chest while the steward and Bill moved his arms gently up and down. He uttered a groan; it showed that he was in pain, and had been injured against the rocks, but it was an encouraging sign. They persevered, and at length the captain spoke in a low voice, asking where he was.
“You are safe on a rock,” answered Emery. “We shall know better when sun rise.”
Just then a voice was heard at no great distance, shouting.
Hixon hailed in return, “Where are you?”
“On an island of some sort,” was the answer. “Many more saved?”