up the side of the canal we perceived a dark body meeting us. The clouds
had again obscured, though not quite hidden the moon, and we could not at
first make out what it was. When we came nearer it showed itself a body
of men hauling something along. Yes, it was the life-boat, afloat on the
troubled waves of the canal, each man seated in his own place, his hands
quiet upon his oar, his cork-jacket braced about him, his feet out before
him, ready to pull the moment they should pass beyond the broken gates of
the lock out on the awful tossing of the waves. They sat very silent, and
the men on the path towed them swiftly along. The moon uncovered her face
for a moment, and shone upon the faces of two of the rowers.

"Percivale! Joe!" I cried.

"All right, sir!" said Joe.

"Does your wife know of it, Joe?" I almost gasped.

"To be sure," answered Joe. "It's the first chance I've had of returning
thanks for her. Please God, I shall see her again to-night."

"That's good, Joe. Trust in God, my men, whether you sink or swim."

"Ay, ay, sir!" they answered as one man.

"This is your doing, Percivale," I said, turning and walking alongside of
the boat for a little way.

"It's more Jim Allen's," said Percivale. "If I hadn't got a hold of him I
couldn't have done anything."