For, once more, the stranger had tried to thrust him off; and a struggle followed, which ended in Zeb’s getting by and gripping the mast again between him and the wreck.

“Now list to me,” he shouted, pulling himself up and flinging a leg over the mast:  “ingratitood’s worse than witchcraft.  Sit ye there an’ inwardly digest that sayin’, while I saves your life.”

He untied the line about his waist, then, watching his chance, snatched the rope out of the other’s hand, threw his weight upon it, and swung in towards the vessel’s ribs till he touched one, caught, and passed the line around it, high up, with a quick double half-hitch.  Running a hand down the line, he dropped back upon the mast.  The stranger regarded him with a curious stare, and at last found his voice.

“You seem powerfully set on saving me.”

His teeth chattered as he spoke, and his face was pinched and hollow-eyed from cold and exposure.  But he was handsome, for all that—­ a fellow not much older than Zeb, lean and strongly made.  His voice had a cultivated ring.

“Yes,” answered Zeb, as, with one hand on the line that now connected the wreck with the shore, he sat down astride the mast facing him; “I reckon I’ll do’t.”

“Unlucky, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“To save a man from drowning.”

“Maybe.  Untie these corks from my chest, and let me slip ’em round yourn.  How your fingers do shake, to be sure!”

“I call you to witness,” said the other, with a shiver, “you are saving me on your own responsibility.”

“Can ’ee swim?”

“I could yesterday.”

“Then you can now, wi’ a belt o’ corks an’ me to help.  Keep a hand on the line an’ pull yoursel’ along.  Tide’s runnin’ again by now.  When you’m tired, hold fast by the rope an’ sing out to me.  Stop; let me chafe your legs a bit, for how you’ve lasted out as you have is more than I know.”

“I was on the foretop most of the night.  Those fools—­” he broke off to nod at the corpses.

“They’m dead,” put in Zeb, curtly.

“They lashed themselves, thinking the foremast would stand till daylight.  I climbed down half an hour before it went.  I tell you what, though; my legs are too cramped to move.  If you want to save me you must carry me.”

“I was thinkin’ the same.  Well, come along; for tho’ I don’t like the cut o’ your jib, you’m a terrible handsome chap, and as clean-built as ever I see.  Now then, one arm round my neck and t’other on the line, but don’t bear too hard on it, for I doubt ’tis weakish.  Bless the Lord, the tide’s running.”

So they began their journey.  Zeb had taken barely a dozen strokes when the other groaned and began to hang more heavily on his neck.  But he fought on, though very soon the struggle became a blind and horrible nightmare to him.  The arm seemed to creep round his throat and strangle him, and the blackness of a great night came down over his eyes.  Still he struck out, and, oddly enough, found himself calling to his comrade to hold tight.