98 A YEAR WITH A WHALER 



One end of the boat went down rapidly. The 

 other end jerked and lurched and seemed to re- 

 main almost stationary. I wondered whether my 

 shipmates were bungling purposely. Mr. Lan- 

 ders and Gabriel sprang among them, brushed 

 them aside and lowered the boat themselves. A 

 crew climbed down the brig's side into the boat. 

 Old Gabriel went as boatheader. In a jiffy the 

 sweeps were shot into place, the boat was shoved 

 off, and the chase was on. 



All this had taken time. As the ship was drift- 

 ing one way and I was quartering off in an al- 

 most opposite direction, I must have been nearly 

 a half mile from the vessel when Gabriel started 

 to run me down. 



I swam on my side with a long, strong stroke 

 that fast swimmers used to fancy before the Aus- 

 tralian crawl came into racing vogue. I was 

 swimming as I never in my life swam before — 

 swimming for liberty. All my hope and heart, 

 as well as all my strength, lay in every stroke. 

 The clear, warm salt water creamed about my 

 head and sometimes over it. I was making time. 

 Swinmiing on my side, I could see everything 



