thoughts ought to have been about saving his men, and
self afterwards; but he followed the natural instinct, and strove to
reach the boat.

"Here I am," he shouted, as soon as he could get his breath; "shove out
an oar."

Tom Fillot had already caught sight of his wet face shining in the
moonlight, and thrusting an oar over the stern, began to paddle to turn
the boat, but was checked directly by the painter, which he had made
fast to the chains when they boarded the schooner.

To have stopped to unfasten it would have meant too much loss of time,
so throwing himself on his chest, he reached out as far as he could with
the oar toward Mark, who had been borne down from where he was plunged
in at the bows toward the boat.

"Lay hold, sir!" cried Tom, excitedly.

"Yah! Cowards! Look-out!" was yelled behind Tom; the boat received a
violent jerk as Dick Bannock gave it a thrust right away from the
schooner, and simultaneously the men were deluged with water by a
tremendous splash close to their side. Then a big wave rose and lapped
over into the boat, striking Mark just as his fingers touched the tip of
the oar blade, and the next moment he was swept on by the tide up the
river.

"All right, sir!" cried Tom Fillot, loudly; "swim steady. We'll have
you directly. You, Dick Bannock, cut that painter. Now, then: oars!"

He dropped down into a seat, and pulled a big stroke to send the boat's
head round.

"Here, help me aboard, mate," cried a voice.

"And me, messmet," cried another, the two speakers holding on by the
side which they had reached after being thrown from the schooner.

"No, no, hold on, mates," cried Tom. "Let's get Mr Vandean first.
What was that 'ere?"

"Pig o' ballast they chucked over to stave the bottom," growled Dick
Bannock, beginning to row. "If I hadn't shoved her off, they'd ha' sunk
us."

"We'll sink them yet," growled Tom Fillot. "Coming, Mr Van, sir.
We'll have you directly. Easy, mates," he cried, throwing in his oar,
and leaning over again toward where Mark was swimming steadily facing
the tide, but letting himself drift, content to keep afloat.

"Can you reach him, mate?" growled Dick.

"Not quite; pull your oar," cried Tom. "That's right. Hooray! Got
him!"

This last was given with a yell of triumph, as he made a snatch at
Mark's wrist, caught it firmly, and hauled the dripping lad over into
the boat.

"Thankye," said Mark, panting. "I'm all right. Now then, help