This was to Bob Chowne, who stared at him wildly, and did not speak.
"Nice chance for me," growled old Jonas.

"There, hold fast, my lads.
I'm going to get in over the starn." The boat rose and fell and rocked as he came round, passed me hand over hand, to pause by the stern, and I thought he was going to climb in; but he altered his mind, and went on round by where Bob Chowne clung, held on with one hand, while he thrust his right arm under the water, and the next moment he had hoisted Bob right up and rolled him over into the boat, where he lay for a few moments apparently quite helpless.
"Now, young Duncan," said old Jonas, "you hold him fast.

I'll get in this side.

She won't go over." It was done in a moment; he let himself sink down, and turn, gave a spring as I turned my head round to watch him; the gunwale of the boat seemed to go down level with the water, and he was on board, while, before I could realise it, he was bending over me to get his arms under poor Big's and drag him into the boat, this time sending the gunwale so low that a quantity of water came in as well.
Old Jonas set his son up in the stern with his back against the rowlock, and it was no easy job, for Big was limp, and tremendously heavy; but the bumping about seemed to do him some good, for, just as I was about to ask in a voice full of awe if he was dead, poor Bigley uttered a low groan.
"Hah! He's coming to, then," said old Jonas, panting heavily, as he seated himself on the middle thwart.

"Here, you young doctor, take that pannikin, and bale out some of that water you're lying in.