"Loyola!" it said, "Loyola! Loyola!"
But it is slow work drowning. His eyes shut in agony, there was a rushing sound in his ears, and his head felt as if it would burst. With clenched teeth he fought the growing feeling of insensibility. Seconds would decide it now.
"Goodbye, my darling, goodbye!" cried his fading senses.
It was his last conscious effort. Was this the end? Would the water never clear off? Indistinct pictures of his past life flitted through his dazed brain like blurred dreams.
The notes of a long-forgotten tune tingled in his ears, then suddenly changed to a bugle call; the Reveille was sounding, clear and shrill, to be broken in upon by the deep boom of Big Ben striking the hour; then he heard nothing but a wild moaning, and a sound as of the flapping of countless wings. Flames flashed on his eyeballs; blue, red and green, purple and yellow sparkled before him like a myriad of precious gems; then all was black, a hideous, piercing black.
With a sickly roll the Higgins freed herself, and the tons of water, pouring to leeward, washed over her rail in a smother of foam; then, with a jerk, the gallant vessel gained her level once more.
The breath of the keen westerly gale put new life into the half-drowned man, as he hung crumpled up and stupefied in his lashings, his hands still grasping the spokes with contracted muscles.
Slowly he opened his eyes and gasped for breath like a fish out of water. His scattered senses returned to him, and his keen brain revived with a wonderful vitality; but whilst his mind, recovering rapidly, grasped the situation, his overstrained body remained weak and helpless.
Dimly his dazed eyes perceived the Scotchman rising ahead on the crest of the wave which had just swept over him. He heard wild cries from aloft, but could distinguish no words.
Instinctively he exerted his last pound of strength to meet her as she fell off, and then collapsed into unconsciousness.