"
Mr. Wood unclasped my arms and turned to the rest.
"What have you done with him?" he said. "Did he hurt himself?"
If the crowd was cowardly and helpless, it was not indifferent; and I
shall never forget the haggard faces that turned by one impulse, where a
dozen grimy hands pointed--to the hole.
"He's drowned dead." "He's under t' ice." "He went right down," several
men hastened to reply, but most of them only enforced the mute
explanation of their pointed finger with, "He's yonder."
For yet an instant I don't think Mr. Wood believed it, and then he
seized the man next to him (without looking, for he was blind with rage)
and said,
"He's yonder, _and you're here_?"
As it happened, it was the man who had talked with his back to us. He
was very big and very heavy, but he reeled when Mr. Wood shook him, like
a feather caught by a storm.
"You were foolhardy enough an hour ago," said the school-master. "Won't
one of you venture on to your own dam to help a drowning man?"
"There's none on us can swim, sir," said John Binder. "It's a bad
job"--and he gave a sob that made me begin to cry again, and several
other people too--"but where'd be t' use of drowning five or six more
atop of him?"
"Can any of you run if you can't swim?" said the school-master.
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