Being thus compelled to sit on the
platform, Cabot could get so little purchase that half his effort was
wasted, and the progress made was barely noticeable. During his
frequent pauses for rest he stood up to gaze longingly at the goal that
still appeared as far away as ever, and grew more unattainable as the
day wore on. At length the sun was well down the western sky, across
which it appeared to race as never before. As Cabot watched it, and
vaguely wished for the power once given to Joshua, the bleakness of
despair suddenly enfolded him, and his eyes became blurred with tears.
He covered them with his hands to shut out the mocking sunlight, and
sat down because he was too weak to stand any longer. He had fought
his fight very nearly to a finish, and his strength was almost gone.
He had perhaps brought his craft five miles nearer to the land than it
was when he set out; but after all what had been the gain? Apparently
there was none, and he would not further torture his aching body with
useless effort.
In the meantime a small schooner, bringing with her a fair wind, was
running rapidly down the coast, not many miles from where our poor lad
so despairingly awaited the coming of night. That he had not seen her
while standing up, was owing to the fact that her sails, instead of
being white, were tanned a dull red, that blended perfectly with the
colour of the distant shore line.
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