"Ahoy, lad!" he shouted. "Shove a scull over the stern, and scull her
this way."
This roused me, and I jumped up to seize a scull, but felt giddy and
nearly fell, for Bob Chowne had hold of my wrist.
"Take hold of the gunwale, Bob," I panted, as I tried again, and this
time felt better, getting an oar over behind, and sending the boat
along, as I had learned to years before.
It was slow and awkward work, with Bob hanging on to the side with his
eyes fixed, and his face white; but I got her along, and before I had
been sculling many minutes, a great brown hand was thrown over on the
opposite side to where Bob clung, and Jonas Uggleston said hoarsely:
"Lay in your oar, mate, and lean over, and take hold of Bigley here.
Get your arm well under him. That's right. Keep his head out of the
water. I'm about beat for a bit."
I obeyed him in a dreamy way, getting Bigley's arm over into the boat,
while I knelt down and put mine round him, and held him close to the
side.
"Can you hold on, youngster?" said old Jonas hoarsely. This was to Bob
Chowne, who stared at him wildly, and did not speak.
"Nice chance for me," growled old Jonas. "There, hold fast, my lads.
I'm going to get in over the starn."
The boat rose and fell and rocked as he came round, passed me hand over
hand, to pause by the stern, and I thought he was going to climb in; but
he altered his mind, and went on round by where Bob Chowne clung, held
on with one hand, while he thrust his right arm under the water, and the
next moment he had hoisted Bob right up and rolled him over into the
boat, where he lay for a few moments apparently quite helpless.
"Now, young Duncan," said old Jonas, "you hold him fast. I'll get in
this side. She won't go over."
It was done in a moment; he let himself sink down, and turn, gave a
spring as I turned my head round to watch him; the gunwale of the boat
seemed to go down level with the water, and he was on board, while,
before I could realise it, he was bending over me to get his arms under
poor Big's and drag him into the boat, this time sending the gunwale so
low that a quantity of water came in as well.
Old Jonas set his son up in the stern with his back against the rowlock,
and it was no easy job, for Big was limp, and tremendously heavy; but
the bumping about seemed to do him some good, for, just as I was about
to ask in a voice full of awe if he was dead, poor Bigley uttered a low
groan.
"Hah! He's coming to, then," said old Jonas, panting heavily, as he
seated himself on the middle thwart. "Here, you young doctor, take that
pannikin, and bale out some of that water you're lying in. You don't
want another bath, do you?"
Bob Chowne got up on to his knees in the bottom of the boat, shivering
and blue, and stared wildly at us all in turn.
"Cold, eh?" growled old Jonas. "Well, then, I'll bale, and you two row
to the lugger."
He glanced round at his son, who was showing signs of returning
animation; but it evoked no sympathy before us, whatever he might have
felt, for he only frowned as, in a shivering mechanical way, we two
wretched boys seized an oar apiece, sat down on the wet thwarts and
began to row.
"Now, then," shouted old Jonas, "look where you're going. Pull, doctor!
Easy, captain! That's better."
Between his words he kept sending out pannikins of water rapidly to ease
the boat, for it was above our ankles as we sat and pulled.
"Nice fellows all of you!" grumbled old Jonas. "Why, you all look blue.
Fool's trick! Who put it up?"
"I--I don't know what you mean, Mr Uggleston," I said.
"Who proposed to swim off to the lugger? Was it Bigley?"
"N-no, Mr Uggleston," I panted, half hysterically, as I tugged at the
oar, an example followed by Bob Chowne, who was very silent and very
blue.
"Soon as I get you aboard, I'll give you all a good rope's-ending, and
chance what your fathers say," grumbled old Uggleston, as he sent the
water flashing over the side. "I suppose it was my Bigley as set you at
it, wasn't it?"
"No, sir," I said, as I rapidly grew more composed now. "We were on the
rock yonder, and had to swim for it. We wanted to get to shore."
"And the current took you out, eh? Of course it would. Then you
weren't swimming for the lugger, eh?"
"Oh, no, sir," I cried; "we had forgotten all about the boat."
"Then, where were you going to swim to--Swansea?" he cried.
"I don't know, sir," I said dolefully.
"No more do I," he snarled. "'Cross the sea to Ireland, eh? And no
biscuit and water. Ah, you ought to be all rope's-ended. How came you
on the rock?"