It was evident that his plank neared the Freston shore; for, as the lightning flashed, he beheld the castle, and the tower, and the trees, and even imagined that he distinguished the very stair in a line with the light of the tower. Just at that time, too, his limbs seemed to be released from the clinging sea-weed and his floating spar to rush into deep water. It darted forward as if released from confinement; its course seeming to be towards the shore. It was evidently in the deep channel, and Latimer thought it was the very channel which he knew swept up to the Freston shore. The light of the tower was now behind him, and again the weeds stopt his plank. It was then he thought of making his greatest effort. 'I am leaving the shore,' he said to himself; 'and my plank will soon be drawn down by the weight of the weeds, and I shall go with it. I must now try my strength, and with God's help, I may reach the land.' He cast off his coat, he tore off his shoes, stript himself as much as he could, and with prayer heavenward, and his eyes upon the beacon, he cast himself upon the waters. In a moment, he felt those long winding weeds twisting themselves around his limbs. His presence of mind did not forsake him. He had often swam the waters of the Severn and had been well tutored against weeds. To struggle against them he knew to be vain. The old fisherman on his native waters, had often told him that the only way to escape them was to lay himself out as fleet as he could, and never to strike until they untwisted themselves, which they would be sure to do if he would not resist them. He did this directly, and though it delayed him, yet delay in this instance was avoiding danger. He struck out as fleetly as he could until he escaped these treacherous weeds, and to his great joy he came into deep water. His eye now rested upon the beacon, his arms expanded, his chest breasted the waves, and hope, that sweet companion, hope in the mercy of God, did not forsake him. It was a hard struggle, however, to buffet the opposing waves, with both wind and tide against him. He had youth, health, strength, hope, and love in his favor; and all that a young man with a good heart could do, he did to reach the wished-for shore. There is, however, a limit to human exertion, beyond which no man's strength can avail. He was ignorant of the distance he had to swim. A light looks sometimes nearer than it really is, and the poor smuggler's heart was greatly tried, as, with all his efforts, he did not seem to near the shore. Yet the light seemed to burn higher up in the sky; and as the lightning illumined the waters, he thought that the dark woods were nearer.