“Oh, Adam,” she cried. “The spindle is gone, and they will go on the rocks! See!”
I turned. They had come on swiftly—too swiftly—and now were headed straight for the place where the rock lay hid; steaming headlong to destruction. I hesitated—I say it to my shame, though a man is but a man after all—I hesitated an instant; then Old Goodwin began to shout, and I shouted, too, wading into the water up to my waist, and waving my hands. For I would warn them farther off. And at our shouting, the man did but get upon the rail, still holding by the stanchion, and lean far out, and put his hand behind his ear. For the wind whipped the words out of our mouths before they were well spoken, and they reached him not at all. And the yacht was but a length from the rock. And the man understood, though he could not hear, and he leaned yet farther out, to call up to the captain; but the captain had understood, too, and she was already turning. And as we looked and held our breath for fear, she struck with a great shock and careened, and the great seas dashed high and hid her for a moment. And when she rolled back again and I could see, the man was gone.
Then Eve shrieked and I cursed, under my breath, and I hurried to shore; and hastily I stripped off my coats and cast down my sou’wester upon them as they lay, and tried to pull off my boots. But they were filled full with water from my wading, and would not come. So I pulled out my knife and ripped them down the side; for I was of no mind to be weighted down with rubber boots. Then they came off easily enough, and I rose and looked at Eve.
“Oh, Adam,” she cried, “can you swim—in that water?”
I looked out upon the water that was roaring and racing. A fish might fail to swim on the top of that water, and be well excused for failing. And I was no fish, though I could swim passing well.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then,” said Eve, “go, and God keep you!” And she kissed me, taking no shame to herself that her father saw, and those on the yacht—they had little leisure for observing—and some of my neighbors, who had gathered near,—who had leisure.
And, with that kiss upon my lips, I could have gone to my death with a light heart; indeed, I knew not but that I was going to it. So I plunged in and swam, thinking as I went, with some bitterness, that here was I, risking my life for a man who was come but to give me trouble. Truly, I thought, he has begun well, and it will be no strange matter if the beginning and the ending are the same. Then I was come to an end of my shelter, and the wind tore at me, and the waves buffeted me, so that I was forced to give all my thought to my swimming; and that was well, too.
Now I have no purpose to give an account of my fool’s errand that I had swum out upon, for thus should I be but a boaster and a braggart and one marked out for destruction. But I found the man,—I do not well know how,—and I brought him to shore, to Eve and Old Goodwin waiting there; and I do not well know how I did that either. And there I left him, to be cared for by those same neighbors of mine, and to recover or not, as it happed him. But I turned to Eve before I went, and she was crying softly.
“Oh, Adam, Adam,” she said; and with that she stopped and said no more, for she could not speak. But she put her arms about me, all wet as I was, and held me tight, and I heard her voice whispering, but I could make out no words. And when she had made an end of her whispering, she let me go.