Then, somehow, he found he was gulping in air again. But this could not go on: he had never rescued anyone before, and had not swum a stroke for two years; his chest was labouring to draw in breath, his eyes stung, his mouth and nose were full of the sickening taste of mingled sulphur, oil, sewage and decay, and all the muscles of his body felt as weak as string. This, then, was the last chance. He let go of Charlie, brought his hands down in front of his waist, clasped them together, and thrust them upwards with all his strength between the skinny arms. No grip could stand that, and the old man fell away. Now he must stop him getting another hold like that — and it was no time for politeness or half-measures. Jim brought his right fist over in a hard overarm swing, and felt the sharp bone of the Mate's bristly jaw bite into his knuckles. Then the old man was limp, a tame, lifeless object, and Jim was kicking away hard, with his hands under Charlie's armpits.
It was not until then that the deadly danger of their plight came home to him: the river was a good half-mile wide here, there was no traffic on it, it was nearly dark, and the strong ebb was driving them seawards at two knots at least. On the north side were the sheer wharves of warehouses, on the south the treacherous mud-flats of Plumstead Marshes — unless... Yes, there was a tall, narrow leaning shape in the darkness towards the marshes; and where it joined the water there was a gleam of phosphorescence that could mean only one thing — the ripple under the bow of Trilby as she tacked back towards them. Jim gave as loud a shout as he could, and raised an arm for a second; he thought he heard an answering shout from aft, but he couldn't be sure. Then his heart lifted with joy as he saw the masts and sails open out; the barge had altered course to pass downstream of them. So Chubb had seen them!
There was a thunder of shaking canvas as the Skipper put the barge about, and back she came on the other tack. Somehow he had managed to back the foresail to deaden her speed, and she came drifting slowly down on them from upwind, crabbing sideways through the water. At last he could see Chubb crouching, one hand on the wheel, peering into the darkness at them. "Jim!" he shouted, his voice full of tension, "I've got the setting-boom towing astern. Cop hold of that and hang on!"
There was the setting-boom, surging slowly ahead only a few feet away, the stout wooden spar that was used for poling the barge by hand in docks and narrow creeks. Still holding the Mate with one arm, Jim seized the boom firmly; Chubb locked his wheel and came right aft to haul in the tow-line. There were a few seconds of convulsive effort, and Charlie Skinner and Jim were stretched, coughing and panting, on the deck of the Trilby.
Chubb did not rise from his kneeling posture, but bent over the elderly Mate. "How are you then, Charlie, me old mate?" he said sympathetically. "That's right. Get your eyes open again; you're back aboard the old Trilby. Blessed if I didn't think you was a goner, though. Here, you help me below with him," he said over his shoulder to Jim.
Now that it was all over, Jim found himself trembling, and not only because of the cold. Still, somewhere deep down within him there was a warm feeling of release and happiness — a feeling he had not had since the moment when Sardis grounded. This time, when the crisis had occurred he had not been found wanting in courage. Could anyone have done more ? He had risked his life to save another... And yet Chubb said nothing to him, but fussed as tenderly as a mother over the old man.
Suddenly through the open companion-way came the sound of a distant shout, and the hasty ringing of a ship's bell. Chubb leapt for the ladder, yelling to Jim: "On deck! Let draw that fores'l as quick as ever you can!"
Seconds later, Jim was for'ard by the starboard shrouds; he quickly cast off the bowline, the great brown sail shot across the horse on which it travelled, and the barge began to gather way. At the same time, he saw the reason for the shout: not more than a few yards away, down-tide and down-wind, was a cluster of three collier brigs secured to a buoy. The watery gap was closing every moment, for the barge was still drifting, rather than sailing. Forgetting how icy cold he was, Jim watched in an agony of suspense; if only she would gather a bit of way she would pass clear ahead. But look at that tide ripping and gurgling past the buoy!
"Going about! Stand by to back the fores'l!" came the shout from the wheel, as Chubb finally saw the hopelessness of trying to pass ahead. Up came the bow into the wind, but the Trilby had been travelling too slowly, and Chubb gave a groan of angry disappointment as she hung head to wind, drifting astern. The next moment all her timbers shook as her port side crashed heavily into the outermost of the moored colliers; there was a brief rending and splintering of timber, as the projecting anchor of the collier bit deeply into Trilby's side. The crash was followed by a chorus of angry yells and curses in broad Tyneside accents; but at least the shock had the effect of knocking the barge on to the right tack. Soon she gathered way, and Chubb steered her out to mid-river, so as to get the best of the favourable ebb. Only when she was once more running quietly on her old course did he call again: "Come aft!"
Jim walked back, puzzled and uneasy at the harsh, curt tone in which the words had been said. He was not to remain in doubt much longer, for as he approached hesitantly Chubb stared at him with a look of bitter anger and said: "You — you're sacked! Soon as we git back you can pack your bag. Dukey can have you back for all I care."
"What for, Mr Chubb, what for? I've done nothing wrong. I saved him, didn't I?"
"You saved him!" Chubb put a world of angry scorn into the words. "I'll tell you what you did: you nearly drowned a poor old man what's sailed with me fifteen years now, and never let me down yet. You nearly drowned your silly self and all, and what's more, you nearly wrecked this here boat what's my living. That's what you did!"
"But it's not fair! I didn't know... I only thought about saving Charlie Skinner."
"You only thought about being a Sunday school hero, that's what. You never listened to my orders. I'm only the Skipper, what was at sea before you was in your cradle."
"But he was drowning. I had to."
"Drowning? Of course he was — think I didn't know that? D'you think I was going to leave him there to it? That the sort of chap you think I am? Listen here to me: if you'd stayed aboard to help we could have spun her round on a penny-piece — these things handle like a yacht, y'know — and you could have had the small-boat over the side in no time. You'd have reached him a sight sooner than what you did, and no danger to anyone. But oh no, that's not good enough for mister blessed hero—" He broke off, and spat savagely over the side. "You're lucky, mate. If I'd had a rope's end, and the time to spare, you wouldn't have an inch o' skin on your back by now. Well, git below and look after poor ole Charlie. There's some rum at the back of my bunk. Better put some dry gear on yourself, too, I s'pose."