“If I only could find a boat,” Gervase said: “I could never reach the fleet by swimming now.”
“I´ve been thinking of that,” she answered; “there´s a bit of a coble lying in the cove, but the oars are gone and it must be leaky as a sieve, for it had been lying there all the summer.”
Gervase caught the idea eagerly. “Anything that will keep me afloat; I care not what it is. Mistress Graham, we´ll save the city between us.”
“There ye go,” she said, with a smile of gratified vanity. “Ye could never make the two miles in yon crazy tub, but I´ll see through the day if I can´t turn my hand to caulking her myself. I´ve seen it done and I think I can try it, but what you´ll do for oars I know not. However, the tide will help you and you´ll manage somehow, never fear. It will be a great day when ye meet Sandy in the Diamond, and tell him I helped you through.”
Throughout the day Gervase remained undisturbed in the cottage. A patrol had been stationed a little distance further along the shore, but they had not again visited the house. Two or three times he heard their shouts as they passed at a distance. Mistress Graham had kept her promise, and as well as she was able, had patched up the little boat, which she dragged into the water and left floating in the cove. By using one of the planks which had been left in the little craft as a paddle, she hoped that he would be able to make his way to the ships. All was now ready for his journey, and it only wanted the help of the darkness to allow him to set out.
It was a bright moonlight night when they went down to the beach together. There was not an air to ruffle the surface of the water, and they could see very plainly a couple of miles away the riding lights of the ships at anchor. The patrol that had been in the vicinity of the cottage during the day had apparently been withdrawn, for they had not been in sight since sundown. Gervase found the coble more than half full of water, which took him some time to bale out, and when he was ready to start he wrung the hand of the kind-hearted woman warmly. “I have no time to spare,” he said. “God reward you for all your kindness! You had better go back to the house now, for if I should be discovered it would only bring you into trouble. I hope we´ll meet under better fortune. Farewell.”
He pushed off, and sitting down amid ships began to make his way slowly from the shore. The woman returned to the door of the cottage, where she stood watching till the black speck was swallowed up in the darkness.
CHAPTER XVIII.
OF HOW GERVASE REACHED THE SHIPS.
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 the 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 failure 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.