As Pelham disappeared beneath the waves, Shuffles was appalled at his own act; for even he had not sunk so low as to contemplate murder.  The deed was not premeditated.  It was done on the spur of angry excitement, which dethroned his reason.  The chief conspirator had so often and so lightly used the language of the League, about “falling overboard accidentally,” that he had become familiar with the idea; and, perhaps, the deed seemed less terrible to him than it really was.  When the act was done, on the impulse of the moment, he realized his own situation, and that of his victim.  He would have given anything at that instant, as he looked down upon the dark waves, to have recalled the deed; but it was too late.  Self-reproach and terror overwhelmed him.

“Man overboard!” he shouted with desperation, as he threw off his pea-jacket, and dived, head foremost, from the forecastle into the sea.

His first impulse had been to do a foul deed; his next, to undo it.  Shuffles was a powerful swimmer.  The ocean was his element.  He struck the water hardly an instant after Pelham; and the ship, which was under all sail, making nine knots, hurried on her course, leaving the rivals to buffet the waves unaided.

“Man overboard!” cried officers and seamen, on all parts of the ship’s deck.

“Hard down the helm, quartermaster!  Let go the life-buoys!” shouted Kendall, who was the officer of the deck.

“Hard down, sir.  Buoy overboard,” replied Bennington the quartermaster at the helm.

“Clear away the third cutter!” added Kendall.

The orders were rapidly given for backing the main-topsail, while the courses were clewed up; but the ship went on a considerable distance before her headway could be arrested.

When Pelham went down into the water, he had been injured by the fall; and though he struck out to save himself, it was not with his usual skill and vigor; for, like his companion in the water, he was a good swimmer.  Shuffles had struck the waves in proper attitude, and was in condition to exert all his powers when he came to the surface.  He swam towards Pelham, intent upon rendering him the assistance he might require.

“Do you mean to drown me?” gasped Pelham, who supposed his rival had followed him overboard for the purpose of completing his work.

“I mean to save you, Pelham,” replied Shuffles.  “Can you swim?”

“I’m hurt.”

“Give me your hand, and I will support you.”

Shuffles took the offered hand of Pelham, who was able to swim a little, and supported him till they could reach the life-buoy, which had been dropped from the stern of the ship when the alarming cry was given.

“Where are you hurt?” asked Shuffles, as soon as they had grasped the buoy.

“My stomach struck the water,” replied Pelham, faintly.

The third cutter had been lowered into the water as soon as the ship’s headway was stopped, and was now within a few yards of the buoy.