They had been swept on to one of the many sand-banks which ran out into the stream, and were safe.
Half-hysterical, she sat down on a huge log, and waited while Blake ran up-stream to give help to the coachman.

While the two had been battling in the water, the priest had stayed with the coachman to cut the horses free, till at last all four got clear of the wreck, and swam ashore.
Then the men followed them, drifting down the current and fighting their way to shore at about the same place.
Hugh Gordon drove the waggonette down to pick up the party when they landed.

The scene on the bank would have made a good picture.

The horses, dripping with water and shaking with cold, were snorting and staring, while the coachman was trying to fix up some gear out of the wreck, so that he could ride one of them.

The priest, his broad Irish face ornamented by a black clay pipe, was tramping up and down in his wet clothes.