then waited, listening to the movements of the men above. I must have
clung there ten minutes, expecting every moment the party scouring the
shore would return, yet not daring to make the venture with those fellows
sitting there, and silently gazing out across the water. At last I heard
them get to their feet, and tramp about on the flat deck of the barge,
the low murmur of their voices reaching me, although words were
indistinguishable. I could hope for no better time. Filling my lungs with
air, I sank below the surface of the river, and then, rising, struck
boldly out into the full sweep of the current.




CHAPTER VIII

THE BLACKSMITH


I had come up gasping for breath, well out in the stream, either shore a
mere darker shadow showing above the water. How far I had been swept
below the barge could not be guessed, as I could distinguish no outlines
clearly, excepting the bare spars of a vessel, tied up to the west shore.
As this ship had not been in sight previously I concluded the drift had
been greater than anticipated, and I struck out quickly toward the
opposite bank, fearful lest I be borne down as far as Gloucester before I
could finally make land. It was a hard swim across the swift current, and
I was nearly exhausted when I finally crept up the low bank, and lay
dripping and panting in the shelter of some low bushes. Except for the
bark of a distant dog there was no sound more disturbing than the rustle
of leaves, and the lapping of water. As my breath came back I sat up,