To witness
his death-struggles - to feel in your own person all the dreadful
alternations of hope and fear - and, finally, to see him die, with
scarcely an effort made for his preservation. This was our case.
At the moment he fell into the water, a boat with three men was
within a few yards of the spot, and actually sailed over the spot
where he sank. Cries of "Shame!" from the crowd collected upon the
bank of the river, had no effect in rousing these people to attempt
the rescue of a perishing fellow-creature. The boat passed on. The
drowning man again rose to the surface, the convulsive motion of
his hands and feet visible above the water, but it was evident that
the struggle would be his last.
"Is it possible that they will let a human being perish, and so
near the shore, when an oar held out would save his life?" was the
agonising question at my heart, as I gazed, half-maddened by
excitement, on the fearful spectacle. The eyes of a multitude were
fixed upon the same object - but not a hand stirred. Every one
seemed to expect from his fellow an effort which he was incapable
of attempting himself.
At this moment - splash! a sailor plunged into the water from the
deck of a neighbouring vessel, and dived after the drowning man.
A deep "Thank God!" burst from my heart. I drew a freer breath as
the brave fellow's head appeared above the water. He called to the
man in the boat to throw him an oar, or the drowning man would be
the death of them both. Slowly they put back the boat - the oar was
handed; but it came too late! The sailor, whose name was Cook, had
been obliged to shake off the hold of the dying man to save his own
life. He dived again to the bottom, and succeeded in bringing to
shore the body of the unfortunate being he had vainly endeavoured
to succour. Shortly after, he came on board our vessel, foaming
with passion at the barbarous indifference manifested by the men
in the boat.
"Had they given me the oar in time, I could have saved him. I knew
him well - he was an excellent fellow, and a good seaman. He has
left a wife and three children in Liverpool. Poor Jane! - how can I
tell her that I could not save her husband?"
He wept bitterly, and it was impossible for any of us to witness
his emotion without joining in his grief.
From the mate I learned that this same young man had saved the lives
of three women and a child when the boat was swamped at Grosse
Isle, in attempting to land the passengers from the Horsley Hill.
