who
appeared to be on the brink of dissolution, when even a few minutes
might make the difference, whether they died or recovered. Mr Saltwell
gave the order to shove off, and away the cutter pulled up towards the
rock, with the dinghy in tow, on her work of humanity.

The captain and those who remained on board watched the progress of the
boats, as well as the movements on the rock, with intense interest. It
is scarcely possible to describe the excitement on the rock, caused by
the departure of the boat. If the actions had before been extravagant,
they were now doubly so; they shrieked, they danced, they embraced each
other with the most frantic gestures; and, indeed, appeared entirely to
have lost all control over themselves.

The cutter dropped her anchor at the distance it was considered
advisable from the rock; but her so doing seemed to make the unhappy
maniacs fancy that she was not coming to their assistance, and their joy
was at once turned into rage and defiance. One of them leaped into the
water and endeavoured to swim towards the boat. Linton, who had taken
the precaution before leaving the ship to arm himself, as had Raby, who
was his companion, instantly leaped into the dinghy, with the two men
destined to pull her; and they urged her on as fast as they could to
succour the unhappy wretch, slacking away at the same time a rope made
fast to the cutter. They had got near enough to see his eye-balls
starting from his head, as he struck out towards them, his hair
streaming back, his mouth wide open, and every muscle of his face
working with the exertion of which he himself was scarcely conscious,
when, as he was almost within their grasp, he uttered a loud shriek, and
throwing up his arms, sank at once before them. A few red marks rose
where he had been, but they were quickly dispersed by the waves.

"The poor fellow must have broken a blood-vessel, sir," said Raby.

"No, indeed," replied Linton, "every artery must have been opened to
cause those dark spots. A ground shark has got hold of him, depend on
it. Heaven grant we do not get capsized, or our chance of escape will
be small. But, hark! what language are those fellows speaking? It is
French, is it not?"

"French, sure enough, sir," replied Jack Raby. "I thought so, before we
left the cutter."

"_Sacre betes Anglais_! How dare you venture here? This is our island,
far better than your miserable Malta. We have taken possession of it,