“Aye, aye! I guess I do,” was the answer. “We will give them another hail presently.”
The boat pulled on. Then Tom, standing up again, halloed, the rest of the party joining him. An answer came from right ahead. Tom recognised Desmond’s voice. With renewed zeal they pulled on and looked around. Tom could distinguish the boat through the gloom, just above the water.
“Bear a hand,” shouted Desmond again, and they were up to the boat.
She had gone almost over, her side being only above water. Desmond was clinging to it.
“Here, take him off first,” he said; and the crew of the whaleboat lifted Tim on board. Desmond sprang after him. Scarcely had they got clear of the wreck of the boat than she went down.
“Thank Heaven, you are safe,” exclaimed Tom, as he rung Desmond’s hand, as if they had been long parted. “Did you not hear our first hail?”
“No; I suppose it was when I was dragging poor Tim up. He got a blow on the head, I think, and was very nearly slipping off. As the boat broke clear of the ship I was on the point of hauling myself up, but I could not bear to desert him.”
“Just like you,” said Tom. “I hope he will recover.”
“No fear of that. We Irishmen have good hard heads. If there is a doctor on board he will soon bring him round.”
“Have you a doctor on board?” asked Tom of the mate.