After the second attempt, if attempt that
could be called which had no reasoning behind it, but only sheer animal
fear, he staggered on, beaten, hopeless. He was aware that Colonel John
was not with them; and then, again, that he was with them; and
then--they were on the wide track now between the end of the lake and
the sea--that they were proceeding with increased caution. That might
have given a braver man hope, the hope of rescue. But rescue had itself
terrors for The McMurrough. His captors, if pressed, might hasten the
end, or his friends might strike him in the _melee_. And so, with every
furlong of the forced journey, he died a fresh death.

And the furlongs seemed interminable, quickly and roughly as he was
hurried along. In his terror the pains of his position, the heat, the
friction of the rough sacking, the want of air, went for little. But at
last he heard the fall of the waves on the shore, gorse pricked his
legs or tripped him up, the men about him spoke louder, he caught a
distant hail. Laughter, and exclamations of triumph reached him, and
the voices of men who had won in spite of odds.

Then a boat grated on the pebbles, he was lifted into it, and thrust
down in the bottom. He felt it float off, and heard the measured sound
of the oars in the thole-pins. A few moments elapsed, the sound of the
oars ceased, the boat bumped something. He was raised to his feet, his
hands were unbound, he was set on a rope-ladder, and bidden to climb.
Obeying with shaking knees, he was led across what he guessed to be a
deck, and down steep stairs. Then his head was freed from the sack,
and, sweating, dishevelled, pale with exhaustion and fear, he looked
about him.

The fog was still thick outside, turning day into twilight, and the
cabin lamp had been lit and swung above the narrow table, filling the
lowbrowed, Dutch-like interior with a strong but shifting light. Behind
the table Colonel John and the skipper leant against a bulkhead; before
them, on the nearer side of the table, were ranged the three captives.
Behind these, again, the dark, grinning faces of the sailors, with
their tarred pigtails and flashing eyes, filled the doorway; and,
beyond doubt, viewed under the uncertain light of the lamp, they showed
a wild and savage crew. As James McMurrough looked, his hopes, which
had risen during the last few minutes, sank. Escape, or chance of
escape, there was none. He was helpless, and what those into whose
hands h