"This way, boys!" he shouted. "Come along! Cheer up, my hearty! I am coming fast." He ceased speaking now, as the boat followed in his track, and Fitz as he knelt in the bows reached behind him to begin fumbling for the boat-hook, finding it and thrusting it out like a little bowsprit, ready to make a snatch when the time should come. But his effort seemed as if it would be vain, for after what seemed in the excitement to be a terribly long row, the boat was brought abreast of the swimming boatswain. "Can't you see him, Butters?" shouted Poole, who had now joined Fitz. "No, my lad," came in a hoarse gasping tone. "Can't you?" "No. I saw the water splash not a minute ago. It was just beyond where you were swimming." "No; more to the left," cried Fitz. "Ah, there! There! There!" and he pointed out in the direction he had described. "Yes, that's it," roared the boatswain, who seemed suddenly to have recovered his breath, and throwing himself away from the boat, whose side he had grasped, he splashed through the water for a few yards towards where a ring of gold seemed to have been formed, and as the boat followed, and nearly touched his back, he seemed to be wallowing in an agitated pool of pale greenish fire, which went down and down for quite a couple of fathoms, the boat passing right above it with the men backing water at a shout from Poole, so that they passed the disappearing swimmer again. "Now," shouted Fitz, as the golden light began to rise, and thrusting down the boat-hook he felt it catch against the swimmer's side. The next moment the boatswain was up with a rush, to throw one arm over the bows. "Got him!" he gasped. There was a quick scramble, the water almost lapped over the side as the starboard-bow went down, and then, partly with the hauling of the boys, partly by the big sturdy boatswain's own efforts, the unfortunate Bob Jackson was dragged aboard, the boatswain rolling in after him with his messmates' help, and subsiding between two of the thwarts with a hoarse, half-strangled groan. "Hooroar!" came from the men, the boys' voices dominating the shout with a better pronunciation of the word. "Hooroar it is!" gasped the boatswain. "Bravo, Butters! Well done! Well done!" cried Poole. "Well done? I am done, you mean. I thought I'd let him go. Keep back, some on you--give a fellow room to breathe. That's better," came with more freedom. "Now then, give your orders, Mr Poole," panted the man; "I've lost my wind. Get him on his back and pump his into him. That's your sort!" he continued, as in obedience to the young skipper's commands two men began to row while the others set to work upon the first aid necessary in the case of a half-drowned man.