to fight the tide long after he had ceased to exert conscious
control.

At length there came through the man's dazed sensibilities a
sound different from those he had been hearing: it was a human
voice, mingled with the measured thud of oars in their sockets.
It roused him like an electric current and gave him strength to
cry out hoarsely. Some one answered him; then out of the darkness
to seaward emerged a deeper blot, which loomed up hugely yet
proved to be no more than a life-boat banked full of people. It
came to a stop within an oar's-length of him. From the babble of
voices he distinguished one that was familiar, and cried the name
of Johnny Brennan. His brain had cleared now, a great dreamlike
sense of thanksgiving warmed him, and he felt equal to any
effort. He was vaguely amazed to find that his limbs refused to
obey him.

His own name was being pronounced in shocked tones; the splash
from an oar filled his face and strangled him, but he managed to
lay hold of the blade, and was drawn in until outstretched hands
seized him.

An oarsman was saying: "Be careful, there! We can't take him in
without swamping."

But Brennan's voice shouted: "Make room or I'll bash in your
bloody skull."

Another protest arose, and O'Neil saw that the craft was indeed
loaded to the gunwales.