"WHAT'LL MASSA SAY?"
The scene taking place before him acted strangely upon Nic. It seemed
to rouse him from his dreamy state, and awakened him to a wild pitch of
excitement.
He sprang to his feet, and was on the point of springing overboard to
the man's help; but a touch from Pete upon the shoulder was enough: he
sank down beneath its pressure, weak and helpless as a child.
"What are you going to do?" whispered Pete. "Are you mad?"
"Help! Save him! Can you stand like that and see the man drown before
your eyes?"
"What can I do, lad?" growled Pete angrily. "If I go over after him,
it's to drown myself. These irons'll stop a man from zwimming, and take
one to the bottom like a stone."
"Ay, ay; ye can't do 'un," growled one of the other prisoners, in whom
the desire for escaping died out on the instant. "Sit still, lad; sit
still."
But Pete stood with staring eyes, gazing wildly at the place where his
enemy had disappeared; the veins in his forehead swelled, his lips
parted, and he panted as he drew his breath, looking ready at any moment
to leap overboard and make an effort to save his old companion's life.
Meanwhile the overseer was shouting orders to his blacks ashore as well
as to those in the boat, which was gliding faster up the stream, and the
men laid down their guns and picked up and put out a couple of oars, the
dogs barking frantically the while.
"Pete Burge," whispered one of the men, "we must make friends now.
Here's our chance; shall we take it?"
"No, no," cried Pete furiously, but without taking his eyes from where
Humpy had disappeared.
"I cannot bear it," panted Nic to himself, as he once more sprang up;
and before he could be stayed he dived out of the boat, rose, and struck
out for the landing-stage.
Pete shouted at him in his agony, and jumped overboard to save him,
forgetting what was bound to happen, and going down like a stone, feet
foremost, but rising to the surface again, to fight gallantly in spite
of the weight of his irons, and strive to overtake Nic, who,
unencumbered, was some yards away.
But it proved to be as Pete had foreseen; there was the gallant will and
the strength to obey it, but it was merely a spasmodic force which only
endured a minute or two. Then the brave young swimmer's arms turned, as
it were, to lead, the power to breast the strong current ceased, and he
remained stationary for a moment or two, before being gradually borne
backward, his efforts ceasing; while the men in the boat watched him and
Pete, who, with the water quite to his nostrils, was swimming with all
his strength, but only just able to keep the heavy fetters from dragging
him to the bottom.
"Two more on us going," said one of the men. "Here, Bob; come and help.
You stop and grab 'em as soon as they're near."
The man and the comrade he had addressed scrambled over the thwarts
towards where the two blacks were rowing hard, but hardly holding the
heavy boat against the powerful tide; and as soon as the fetters
clanked, the dogs barked savagely and leaped up to meet them; but as the
intelligent beasts saw the men seize a couple of oars and thrust them
over the sides, they stopped short, panting.
"All the better for you," growled one of the men to the dog glaring at
him, "for I'd ha' choked you if you'd come at me.--Pull away, blackies."
The additional oars had the right effect, for as the four men pulled
with all their might the boat began to stem the current and shorten the
distance between it and the two drowning men. But, in spite of his
great strength, Pete was being mastered by the heavy weight of the
irons, and was getting lower and lower in the water; while Nic's arms
had ceased to move, and he was drifting with the tide.
"Keep up; strike out, lads," cried the man in the bows, in agony.
"We're coming fast now."
It was not the truth, for the heavy boat was moving very slowly against
the swift tide, and the swimmers' fate seemed to be sealed, as the man
reached back, got hold of another oar, and thrust it out over the bows,
ready for Pete to grasp as soon as he came within reach.
"We shall be too late," groaned the man, with all his enmity against
Pete forgotten in those wild moments of suspense. "Here, look out for
the oar. Pete, lad, swim back. Oh! poor lad, he can't hear me. He's
drownin'--he's drownin'."
Pete could not hear, and if he had heard during his frantic efforts to
reach Nic, he would not have heeded, for there was no room in the man's
brain in those wild moments for more than that one thought--that he must
save that poor, weak fellow's life.
It takes long to describe, but in the real action all was condensed into
less than a minute. Pete, who fought wildly, frantically, to keep his
head above water, fought in vain, for his fettered legs were fast losing
their power, and he was being drawn gradually lower and lower, till,
after throwing his head back to gasp for a fresh breath, he straightened
his neck again, with the water at his eyes, and saw that what he could
not achieve the current had done for him.
He made a wild, last effort, and caught with one hand at the arm just
within reach; his fingers closed upon it with a grip of iron, and
another hand caught desperately at his hair.
Then the water closed over the pair, joined together in a death-grip,
and the tide rolled them unresistingly up the stream.
"Pull, pull!" yelled the man in the bows, as he reached out with his
oar; but he could not touch the place where he saw the figures
disappear. Quick as thought, though, and with the clever method of one
accustomed to the management of a fishing-boat, the man changed his
tactics. He laid the oar over the prow, treating the iron stem as a
rowlock, and gave a couple of strokes with all his might, pulling the
boat's head round, and bringing it well within reach of the spot where
Nic's back rose and showed just beneath the surface. Then, leaving the
oar, the man reached over, and was just in time to get a good hold, as
the oar dropped from the bow into the river, and he was almost jerked
out of the boat himself.
"Hold hard, lads, and come and help," he yelled.
The help came; and, with the dogs barking furiously and getting in every
one's way, Nic and Pete, tightly embraced, were dragged over into the
bottom of the boat, the blacks, as soon as this was done, standing
shivering, and with a peculiar grey look about the lips.
At that moment there was a distant hail from the landing-stage, and the
big smith pulled himself together and hailed in reply.
"Ah, look!" he cried; "you white fellow lose one oar. Quick, sharp!
come and pull. Massa Saunders make trebble bobbery if we lose dat."
The oars were seized, and with two of the prisoners helping to row, the
oar was recovered from where it was floating away with the tide, the
others trying what they could do to restore the couple, who lay
apparently lifeless; while the dog which had behaved so strangely
earlier in the day stood snuffing about Nic, ending by planting his
great paws upon the poor fellow's chest, licking his face two or three
times, and then throwing up his muzzle to utter a deep-toned, dismal
howl, in which the others joined.
"Say, um bofe dead," groaned the big smith. "Pull, boy; all pull you
bess, and get back to the massa. Oh, lorimee! lorimee! what massa will
say along wi' dat whip, all acause we drown two good men, and couldn't
help it a bit. Oh, pull, pull, pull! Shub de boat along. What will
massa say?"