The raft was almost in pieces, but it floated more slowly towards the island. John’s relief at finding himself and his companion yet alive was dashed by a new anxiety. Dawn was glimmering in the sky. If they were not rescued they would float through the pool to the longer and even more dangerous series of rapids at the further end. They might be seen by the enemy on the bank. He could not swim to the fort; his whole body was stiff and racked with pain; his limbs would fail him. The raft was drifting past the fort; very slowly, for it was no longer in the middle of the current; but being without anything to serve as a paddle, the two could do nothing to check its steady progress towards the lower rapids. There was only one chance. He called to Bill to shout at the top of his voice, and putting two fingers to his lips, he blew a shrill whistle which no white man would fail to recognize. In a moment there came an answering whistle from the fort. Dimly he saw figures at the wall. He shouted: a cheery cry answered him: and in a few moments he saw Ferrier and four men lug a canoe to the gate and put off to the rescue. But the whistle and the shouts had been heard by the enemy, who were already astir. John could not yet see them, but he heard their yells, and knew that they were swarming towards the pool. "All right, old man, we’ve got the start of them," cried Ferrier, as the canoe rapidly approached. It was a race between the canoe and the current, between the rescuers and the enemy. A shot rang out: a flight of arrows hissed into the water. The raft was drifting within range of the enemy; but in the half-darkness and against the background of wood on the shore the small floating object offered but an indifferent mark. Had the day been even a few minutes older the occupants of the raft would have stood a poor chance against the arrows, to say nothing of the rifles, of the crowd that could now be seen flitting like shadows round the margin of the pool. The greatest source of alarm, however, was not the imperfect shooting of the enemy, but the rapids to which the raft was drawing ever nearer. Weakened as it was by its passage of the upper rapids, it was inconceivable that it could survive the second and far more formidable strain. The rush of the water could already be heard; the movement of the raft was perceptibly quickening. Would Ferrier arrive in time? And if he did overtake the raft, would he too not run a fearful risk of being drawn into the stream and hurled along in utter helplessness? The shouts from the shore redoubled in volume; arrows flew more and more thickly; and John had almost yielded to despair when the canoe shot up alongside at an amazing pace. Some one grasped the raft; the crew backed water with all their might. Bill plunged into the water and scrambled on board the canoe. "I can’t move; I’ve ricked myself," cried John. "You must lug me in."