"Yes, nearly there," I repeated vacantly; "nearly there." Where was "there"?
The sun was rising like a ball of flame; red and angry, he was preparing for another day, and he scowled down upon us with threatening look, as though we had wronged him, and he but waited to avenge himself. We turned a curve in the river—there, nearly a quarter of a mile away, by the side of a dock lay a great vessel, her decks alive with men. She was about to spread her white sails, and fly out into the trackless ocean; even as we looked, she came slowly around, and, the wind filling her great sheets of canvass, began to move slowly through the water.
Bobby dropped the oar and sprang to his feet.
"It is our ship!" he cried.
And then he raised his voice and shouted with all his might, I joining him, but in vain; we were too weak from our long efforts, and our voices could not reach the ship. I waved my doublet above my head, and Bobby, putting his cap upon his oar, moved it backward and forward, hoping to attract their attention. But no sound came from the vessel, steadily she kept on her way to join her two consorts at the mouth of the river.
The vessel lay below the city, at an old deserted wharf, probably waiting for us, and her going attracted little attention; only a small crowd of people stood upon the wharf, idlers and friends of the adventurers, who had come to say good-by. My companion had thrown himself upon his face on the bottom of the boat and was sobbing like a child. I listlessly kept up my efforts to attract the attention of the vessel, for, though I had despaired of succeeding, I would not desist until it had passed out of sight.
The great ship keeled as she came round to the wind, and lay motionless. A culverin boomed, and lo! a boat put out from her and made for us where we lay. I gave a shout of joy—we were saved.
Vane looked up at my cry of astonishment.
"What is it?" he asked wonderingly. "Art thou mad?"
"We are saved, Bobby!" I cried, and I caught him in my arms and hugged him in delight. "Saved!"