Then his companion pulled him back.
"The gully's there all right," the man remarked when they clambered out.
"Say, that water's surely cold." "It will be colder soon when the ice comes down, and if the skip's to be got out, we must get her now.

I think I could reach her by swimming." The other looked doubtful, but Festing took off his heavy boots, and picking up the end of the rope they had used to move the pulley, walked to the edge of the island.

He was now a short distance above the skip, and hoped the eddies would help him to reach the ledge it rested on before he was swept past; but he must avoid being drawn into the main stream, since there was not much chance of landing on the foam-swept rocks lower down.

Making sure he had enough slack rope, he plunged in.
An eddy swung him out-shore, towards the dangerous rush; the cold cramped his muscles and cut his breath, but he was already below the spot he had left, and there was no time to lose.

The white streak that marked the skip seemed to forge up-stream to meet him, and he swam savagely until he was in the broken water and something struck his foot.
Then he arched his back and dived, groping with his hands.