"Tie the line around me," Jimmy shouted. "Let her go. Get the
other end on the windlass."
They paid out the rope through their hands. Jimmy kicked off his
boots and plunged into the cauldron. He swam barely a dozen strokes
before he was caught on the top of an incoming wave, tossed about
like a cork and flung back upon the beach, where he lay groaning.
There was a little murmur amongst the fisherman, who rushed to lean
over him.
"Swimming ain't no more use than trying to walk on the water," one
of them declared.
Lessingham raised the lantern which he was carrying, and flashed
it around.
"Where are the young ladies?" he asked.
"Gone up to the house with two as we've just taken off the wreck,"
some one informed him.
Lessingham stooped down. Willing hands helped him unfasten the cord
from Jimmy's waist. He tore off his own coat and waistcoat and boots.
Some helped, other sought to dissuade him, as he secured the line
around his own waist.
"We've sent for more rockets," one man shouted in his ear. "The man
will be back in half an hour."
Lessingham pushed them on one side. He stood on the edge of the
beach and, borrowing a lantern, watched for his opportunity. Then
suddenly he vanished. They looked after him. They could see
nothing but the rope slipping past their feet, inch by inch.
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