"Pull away, my boys. We ketch dat feller," sang out Gabriel. Wilson at the midship oar "caught a crab" and tumbled over backwards, his feet kicking in the air. Wilson was a good oarsman. He was my friend. A hundred yards more and Walker at the tub oar did the same. He also was my friend. The boys were doing their best to help me--to give me a chance. I knew it. Gabriel knew it, too. The crafty old negro recognized the crisis. I could not hear what he said or see all that he did, but the boys told me about it afterwards. It must have been a pretty bit of acting. Suddenly Gabriel half rose from his seat and peered anxiously ahead. "My God!" he cried, "dat poor feller, he drown. Pull, my boys. Oh, good God!" The sailors at the sweeps had their backs to me. It was a good long swim and the water was full of sharks. It was not difficult to make them believe that I was verging on tragedy. "Dere he go down!" Gabriel's voice was broken and sobbing. "He t'row his hands up. He underneath de water. I cain't see him. Oh, dat poor feller! No, dere he come up again--oh, good Lord! Pull away, my bully boys, pull away. We save him yet." Surely the stage lost a star when Gabriel became a whaler. The old Thespian was good--he was great. His acting carried conviction. The sailors believed I was drowning. They leaned upon their oars with a will. The sweeps bent beneath the powerful strokes. The boat jumped through the water. I noted the increased speed by the white spray that began to stand at the bow. Gabriel helped along the speed by forward lurches of his body, pushing at the same time upon the stroke oar. All the while he kept shouting: "We save him yet, dat poor feller! Pull away, my boys." The boat came up rapidly. In a little while it was almost upon me. I tried to dodge it by darting off at right angles. It was no use--Gabriel slewed his tiller and the boat came swishing round upon me. I had played the game out to the last and I was beaten--that was all. I caught the gunwale near the bow and pulled myself into the boat. "You make dam good swim, my boy," said old Gabriel, smiling at me as he brought the boat around and headed back for the ship. I had made a good swim. I was fully a mile from the brig. I was not much over a half mile from shore. I looked across the sunlit, dancing blue water to the land. How easy it would have been to swim it! How easy it would have been after I had crawled out upon the sands to hide in the nearby mountains and live on wild fruit until the ship started for the north and all danger of capture was past.