The coble was a poor sea boat and very heavy for its size. The piece of timber that Gervase used was a wretched substitute for an oar, and while the tide carried him rapidly down he could see that he made little progress towards the ships. If he should drift past them it was impossible that he could ever make his way against the current, and he must be carried out to sea. Fortunately the night was clear, and the wind blew in fitful airs, coming from the shore. Notwithstanding his utmost exertion the boat hardly seemed to move, and when he looked round it was already two hundred yards from the shore. He knew that he was still far from being safe from pursuit. He could still easily be seen from the shore in the broad moonlight, and once observed his pursuers would have no difficulty in finding a boat in which they might easily overtake him. He put his heart into every stroke, till the perspiration began to run from his brows and his arms ached till he could almost have cried out for the pain. But he was making his way, however slowly; he could now see the vessels and the yards with the sails flapping idly against the masts. Over 305the water came the sound of a bell, perhaps calling up the watch, and for the first time he realized how near he was to safety. But the boat seemed to him to go more slowly, and to have grown more difficult to move. Then he looked down and saw that the water was almost up to the thwarts. There was nothing for it but to abandon the paddle and bale out the water, which proved a long and laborious task. When he had accomplished little more than half the work, he saw that a little more delay would bring him opposite to the ships and still far from being within hail. Again he seized his paddle and strained every nerve to make up the way he had lost. His mind was almost distraught with fear; he worked like one possessed; nearer indeed, he came, but Oh! how slowly. The boat would not move in this sea of lead; his muscles were beginning to refuse to act, and to his eyes the sea had grown red, like a sea of blood. His last hope was dying in his heart. To be so near the end of his journey, to have passed through such perils, and to have failed after all--the thought was maddening. Still he would not give way, and he knitted his brows and set his teeth hard. Then as he bent forward the paddle slipped from his hand, and went floating away astern. With a despairing cry, weakened as he was, he fell down in the bottom of the boat, and covered his face with his hands. It was all over; he was beaten at last, and had failed as the others had failed before him. For a minute or two he lay overcome by his despair; the sense of hopeless 306failure swallowed up every other feeling. The thought of present danger did not present itself to his mind; he had seen too many brave men meet their death in these latter days not willingly to adventure his own life lightly. His head reeled, his mouth was parched, and his eyes throbbed with an intolerable pain. Then almost without knowing what he did, he rose to his feet and tried to call out. At first he could not articulate the words, but his voice died away in a feeble murmur. How near he seemed! the spars stood out plainly against the sky, and the lights were burning clear and bright. He thought once he could hear the sound of the mariners calling as they lay out on the spars of the brig that was riding nearest to him.
Again he called out--"Ship Ahoy!" and this time his voice came strong and full, but though he stood and listened there was no response to his shout. A third time he called out, and then to his inexpressible delight he heard a hoarse voice coming over the water, “Ahoy! what boat is that?”
Rising once more to his feet he called through his hands, “Help! Help!” and sank exhausted in the bottom of the boat, incapable of making any further effort. He waited anxiously but there came no further response, and the little boat went drifting down with the tide. He began to fear that they had not heard his second call. Then--hours after it seemed--he heard the measured sweep of oars and the sound of voices coming nearer. But for his life he could not raise himself above the gunwhale; 307his strength had left him, and he was as feeble as a child.
But they had caught sight of the little craft where it tossed about in the space of moonlit water, and in a minute or two the ship′s boat was alongside. Gervase was trying without success to answer the questions the mate of the brig was putting to him. Divining at a glance his condition they lifted him into the boat, and one of the seamen with kindly pity threw his rough jacket over him as they rowed to the brig. He lay in the bottom of the boat utterly helpless and unable to move; but his heart was full of inexpressible emotion, for he had accomplished his work and saved the city.
He remembered rowing round the brig and seeing the words “Phoenix of Coleraine” painted in large white letters on the stern, but he fainted away as they lifted him over the side of the boat, and knew nothing more till he found himself lying in the round-house of the brig.
“What piece of goods have ye got there, McKeller?” the master said, standing by the shrouds, and looking over the bulwark as they lifted Gervase aboard.
“As fine a lad as ever I saw in my life, but thin as a whipping-post--a messenger I think, from Londonderry. Gently, my lads, easy with his head. Six feet two of manhood, and I guess a rare good one with his whinger if he had his senses about him.”
They carried him to the round-house, and laying 308him on the floor, poured a dram of aqua-vit? down his throat, but for a long time he showed no sign of life. Then they noticed the letter where it was secured.
“You were right, McKeller,” said the master, as he handed the case bottle to the mate, “the youngster comes from Londonderry, and he brings the message with him. Mayhap ′twill stir up the Colonel at last, and I trust it will, for the sake of Tom Robinson and my sister Marjorie. My God! what that young fellow must have come through; and a gentleman too, as I judge by the gewgaws on his finger.”
“Ay,” answered the mate drily, “and you have given him a pint of pure spirits by way of welcome. You′ll hardly hear about Tom Robinson for a while after that.”
“Never fear; these long-legged fellows stand a lot of moistening. I wouldn′t for half my share in the good ship Phoenix have missed hea............