And now all their exertions were put forth to extricate the boat from the central grasp of the current. Already, thanks to their former exertions, they had forced it from the centre to the edge of the tide, and a few more vigorous efforts might bring them to the shore. But so swift was the tide, that it seemed about to snatch them away from that shore when it was just within reach. It seemed as though they could almost have waded ashore if they had jumped overboard. But that, of course, could not be done, for the power of the current would have swept any one away who should try it. To every stroke of the rude paddles the tide brought a counteracting influence; and for every six inches of forward motion, there were two feet of sidelong drift. The boat’s head was toward the shore, but her motion was broadside; and so the shore seemed ever near, yet inaccessible, and most unattainable when most within reach. And so on past the whole length of the island, until the cliff at the farthest extremity was reached and passed. They were but ten feet from the shore. The rocky ledge, covered with sea-weed, still extended before them. It was to this that they now tried to force the boat. Ten feet! Only ten feet! And the ten feet lessened to nine, and the nine to eight, and the eight to seven, and the seven to six. But six feet between them and the shore! But six feet! Would they--could they--fail at last? Six feet only! But the tide was wild and strong, and now, at this last crisis of their fate, seemed like some living monster, fearful that his prey was escaping from his power. It was as though his grasp was fastened on them with a fiercer clutch and a more desperate tenacity,--as though, at this supreme hour, he had risen in his might, and, even at the very gate of his domain, had seized them, and was trying to draw them to destruction. But six feet! Yet between them and the rock of their hope, even in those few feet of watery distance, what risks and dangers lay--what chances of loss--what baffled hopes--what despair! The suspense was anguish. On they went with the fury of the torrent. “O, why haven’t I a paddle!” groaned little Phil Kennedy. Bruce raised himself, and looked around, with his pale face and staring eyes. Arthur, and Tom, and Bart put forth their last energies. Four feet! Not a word was spoken. The tightly compressed lips, the resolute eyes, the frowning brows of the struggling boys, spoke of their resolution; their panting, heaving breasts told how heavily they labored with their clumsy, unwieldy oars. A roar sounded in their ears to the right. It was the rush of the current as it swept past the extreme verge of the ledge. There was the open sea. There lay their last chance; beyond it--destruction.