IV.
At the Mercy of the Tide.—Ears deafened.—Eyes blinded.—A fresh Struggle for Life.—The Roar of the Steam Whistle.—Where are we?—Pat explores.—A desolate Abode.—The falling Tides.—Without Food and Shelter.
WHERE is Pat?
Such was the terrible question that came to the mind of Phil, as, clinging to the oar, he felt himself swept onward by the resistless current. Far on high was the suspension bridge; on either side were dark, savage precipices, and the sweep of the tide hurried him along helplessly between these.
Where is Pat?
At that dread question his heart sank within him. The remembrance of his recent plunge beneath the furious billows where he had been hurled down, and whirled round, and thrown out again, was still most vivid. He thought of Pat as being engulfed beneath them still. His own escape seemed little short of miraculous, and he could not hope that both of them were safe. Such an escape was astonishing for one, but for two it was too much to hope for. He did not dare to look back. He was afraid to know the worst, and that look back, he thought, would show him only the dark water. For a time he felt as though he would rather fear the worst, than actually know it; and so, despairingly, he was swept on, and passed under the bridge in the same attitude in which he had emerged from the Falls.
Suddenly from behind him there sounded a cry,—
“Hooray!”
A thrill of joy passed through Phil. It was Pat’s voice. In an instant his terror fled, and he looked back. There, to his amazement, close behind him, he saw Pat, drifting along, with his face above water fully revealed, and showing, even at that dread moment, the calm self-reliance and good-natured ease that always distinguished him. Phil was so overcome with joy, that he could not say a word.