Confused thoughts of the
boats were cast aside and "Brownie" threw himself from the rock, hitting
the water like a barrel, and turned into the channel. As he felt the
tug of the tide he experienced a revulsion of fright, for he had no
stomach for the task ahead of him. "Brownie's" swimming was usually done
in safer water than that he was making for. But he tried his best to
forget the depths below him and the long swim ahead, to remember only
that Joe was in trouble out there and that Phil, probably by now
somewhat exhausted, would never be able to bring him to shore
unassisted.
The long swells hid the others from him. Once, though, poised for a
moment on the round summit of a bank of water, he glimpsed ere he
descended into the green valley beyond, a darker spot ahead and so found
his direction. He knew better than to tire himself out by desperate
strokes. His only hope of getting there and getting back was to conserve
his strength. All sorts of thoughts came and went in a strange jumble.
Sometimes it seemed that he was making no progress, that the slow waves
were bearing him remorselessly back to the cove, or, at least just
defeating the strokes of his arms and legs. Breathing became laboured
and once a veritable panic seized him and it was all he could do to keep
from turning and swimming wildly back toward shore.
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