Captain Blogg rose to the surface directly and swam after his
schooner. The fury of his soul did not abate all at once. He roared
to the mate to bring the schooner to, but there was no responsive
"Aye, aye, sir." He was now outside of his jurisdiction, and his
power was gone. He swam with all his strength, and his bloated face
still looked red as the foam passed by it. The helmsman had resumed
his place, and steadied the tiller, keeping her full, while the other
men looked over the stern. Secker said: "The old man will have a
long swim."
But the "old man" swam a losing race. His vessel was gliding away
from him: his face grew pale, and in an agony of fear and despair,
he called to the men for God's sake to take him on board and he would
forgive everything.
But his call came too late; he could find no sureties for his good
behaviour in the future; he had never in his life shown any love for
God or pity for man, and he found in his utmost need neither mercy
nor pity now. He strained his eyes in vain over the crests of the
restless billows, calling for the help that did not come. The
receding sails never shivered; no land was near, no vessel in sight.
The sun went down, and the hopeless sinner was left struggling alone
on the black waste of waters.
The men released the cook and held a consultation about a troublesome
point of law.
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