The weather was warm and muggy in spite of the gale, which some experienced skippers on the lake called a hurricane; and the perspiration poured in great drops from the face of the desperate burglar. The rain still fell in sheets, and in a short time the cloud would cover the water so that he could not see the vessel or the island. Angy worked as though his salvation in this world and the next depended upon his success.
Dory was unable to determine whether the accident to the boat was to be a chance or a mischance to him. The boat was half full of water; and if the burglar lost his pluck, and gave up rowing, the tender would fall off into the trough of the sea, and probably capsize again. With his arms bound behind him, he could not well avoid being drowned, though he felt that he had some chance of saving himself, shackled as he was.
He had lost sight of the island, and the schooner would soon disappear. He looked behind him occasionally, in order to keep his bearings as long as there was any thing in sight in that direction. Ahead of him, although Camp-Meeting Point was less than a mile distant, there was nothing but the cloud of fog and rain to be seen. He was especially interested to know whether or not the burglar was making any progress towards the schooner. He had lost sight of the island, which he could see when the rower was getting the boat about; and, as the vessel was seen less distinctly than when he began to pull ahead, he concluded that he was losing instead of gaining.
The drops of rain and sweat poured from Angy's face as he struggled with the oars. Dory admitted to himself that the rower handled his implements skilfully; but he did not believe any man could make headway against such a sea, which had considerably increased in force as the boat went farther from Bluff Point.
It was soon evident to Dory that the powers of Angy were failing him. Through the spray that beat against the bow of the tender, and dashed over him, he looked for the schooner, which was almost out of sight. It was clear enough now, if it had not been so before, that the tender was losing ground. The strength, and perhaps the pluck, of Angy were giving out.
Dory watched the face of the chief with increasing interest when the result of the battle with the elements was no longer a problem to him. Angy was breathing rapidly, for he had well-nigh exhausted the reservoir of his breath. The observer came to the conclusion that he had given up the struggle, and was simply pulling to prevent the tender from falling off into the trough of the sea. Gradually he remitted his exertions, until he did only enough to keep the boat's head up to the sea. Dory could easily realize that he was considering what he should do.