The young man's lips checked a cry that was half a sob of bitter disappointment. He had entered into the spirit of the chase heart and soul, with an enthusiasm that was strange to him, when he came to look back upon the time; and to fail, even though failure had been discounted a hundredfold since the inception of his mad adventure, seemed hard, very hard.
He sat down suddenly. "She's gone!" he cried in a hollow gasp.
The boatmen eased upon their oars, and old Bob stood up in the bows, scanning the river-scape with keen eyes shielded by a level palm. Young William drooped forward suddenly, head upon knees, and breathed convulsively. The boat drifted listlessly with the current.
Old Bob panted: "'Dawn't—see—nawthin'—o' 'er." He resumed his seat.
"There's no hope, I suppose?"
The elder waterman shook his head. "'Carn't sye.... Might be round—nex' bend—might be—passin' Purfleet.... 'Point is—me an' young Wilyum 'ere—carn't do no more—'n we 'as. We be wore out."
"Yes," Kirkwood assented, disconsolate, "You've certainly earned your pay." Then hope revived; he was very young in heart, you know. "Can't you suggest something? I've got to catch that ship!"
Old Bob wagged his head in slow negation; young William lifted his.
"There's a rylewye runs by Woolwich," he ventured. "Yer might tyke tryne an' go to Sheerness, sir. Yer'd be positive o' passin' 'er if she didn't syle afore 'igh-tide. 'Ire a boat at Sheerness an' put out an' look for 'er."
"How far's Woolwich?" Kirkwood demanded instantly.