Instead of pushing straightway for the
bar and hoisting sail--which might have brought a charge of grape-shot
after him--he kept in the gloom of the piles nearly into the left bank,
and then hugged the shadow it afforded. Nothing but the desolate sands
surveyed him, and the piles of wrack cast up by gales from the west.
Then with a stout heart he stepped his little mast, and the breeze,
which freshened towards the rising of the sun, carried him briskly
through the tumble of the bar.
The young man knelt and said his morning prayer, with one hand still
upon the tiller; for, like most men who have fought well for England,
he had staunch faith in the Power that has made and guides the nations,
until they rebel against it. So far his success had been more than his
own unaided hand might work, or his brain with the utmost of its labours
second. Of himself he cast all thoughts away, for his love seemed lost,
and his delight was gone; the shores of his country, if he ever reached
them, would contain no pleasure for him; but the happiness of millions
might depend upon his life, and first of all that of his mother.
All by himself in this frail old tub, he could scarcely hope to cross
the Channel, even in the best of weather, and if he should escape the
enemy, while his scanty supplies held out. He had nothing to subsist on
but three small loaves, and a little keg of cider, and an old tar tub
which he had filled with brackish water, upon which the oily curdle of
the tar was floating.
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