The bonnet was in the sea; Anna had dropped to her seat and caught the helm in her left hand.
“Cowards!” cried Valentine, for want of a stronger word, and then he fell to working the boat on its way. The tide helped them now; it swung the boat over toward the Jersey shore.
The firing from Staten Island called out the inhabitants on the Jersey coast. They watched the approaching boat with interest. Everything depended now on the cow’s lying still, on the boy’s strength, on the meeting of the tides. If he could reach there before the tide came up all would be well; otherwise it would sweep him off again toward the island.
“Can’t you row?” asked Valentine, at length.
“Bub, I can’t,” said Anna, her voice shaking out the words. It was the first time she had spoken since she sat down.
“Are you hurt?” he questioned.
“I tremble so,” she answered, and turned her face away.
“I reckon we’d better help that boy in,” said a Jersey fisherman as he watched, and he put off in a small boat.
“Don’t come near! Keep off! keep off!” called Valentine, as he saw him approach. “I’ve a cow in here.”