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