"It's all over!" groaned the poor fellow. "If they'll only pick up the poor young governor in time!" A hoarse sob of despair escaped from Ned's breast, as he prepared to dodge the next blow from the club, meaning not to strike another nerveless, helpless blow from the water, but to grapple with the black. "And then it's who can hold his breath longest," he thought. "Oh, why did I come on a trip like this?" Thought comes quickly at a time like this. The club was once more raised and held suspended in the air for a few moments, the wily black feinting twice over, and making Ned dodge. The third time he made another quick feint, and was in the act then of delivering a tremendous blow, when Jack uttered a wild cry, for he had turned his head to appeal to his companion for help. At that moment Ned heard a whizz, as if some beetle had suddenly passed his ear; there was instantaneously a sharp pat, and the moment after the report of a rifle. The club fell into the water with a splash. "Hah!" ejaculated Ned, turning on his side, and in a dozen side strokes he was alongside of Jack once more, as he was making a brave effort to come to his companion's aid. "Back, my lad, back!" cried Ned as he swam. "No, no; you're not beaten yet. Hooray! the boat! They're close here, and--Mr Jack, sir--it's-- it's too much--I--I--Swim, sir, swim--don't--don't mind me!" The poor fellow's look seemed fixed and staring, his arms refused their office, and Jack caught at him to try and support him. Then struggling vainly the water closed over his head, as his starting eyes saw the flashing of the water thrown up by six oars, and a figure standing leaning toward him, boat-hook in hand. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. NOT BEATEN YET. "How are you, boy?" The voice seemed to come from a great distance, and the face of the speaker looked far away, and yet his hand was being held in his father's firm palm. "Ah!" sighed Jack in answer. Then quickly, "Ned! Ned! Where's Ned?" "Safe here," said Sir John. "In the boat. We were only just in time." "He's coming to," said another familiar voice. "Pull away, my lads. Well, Jack, old fellow, you've been carrying on a nice game. How are you? Glad to see you. No, no, lie back for a bit. We'll soon have you on board." Jack said nothing for a few moments. Then quickly-- "Who was it fired that shot?" "Oh, never mind about who fired it," said the doctor gruffly; but he picked up a double rifle lying against one of the thwarts, and mechanically opened the breech, drew out a spent cartridge, and thrust in another. "Have your pieces ready, my lads. Half at the word cease rowing, aim, and fire. Are you ready, gentlemen? They're coming on very fast." "Yes; all right," said the doctor; and Sir John rose in the boat, rifle in hand, and gave the mate, who had spoken, a nod, and then he smiled as Jack rose up quickly and picked up one of the loaded pieces at his side.