Amyas is up to his knees in water--battered with stones--blinded with blood.

The boat is swaying off and on against the steep pebble-bank: he clutches at it--misses--falls headlong--rises half-choked with water: but Frank is still in his arms.

Another heavy blow--a confused roar of shouts, shots, curses--a confused mass of negroes and English, foam and pebbles--and he recollects no more.
* * * * * He is lying in the stern-sheets of the boat; stiff, weak, half blind with blood.

He looks up; the moon is still bright overhead: but they are away from the shore now, for the wave-crests are dancing white before the land-breeze, high above the boat's side.

The boat seems strangely empty.