Again he called for assistance, but there was
no answer, no sound, save that of the water buffeting past the vessel.
He ceased to waste his strength in fruitless cries, devoting all that
remained to his struggle to reach the ladder. But his strokes were
weaker than before and he found he was being carried back upon the
current instead of making headway against it. Fight as he would, he
could feel that sliding, hopeless drag against which he was powerless
to combat. His strength vanished ounce by ounce. His arms grew so
numb with fatigue and cold that he could do nothing but move them up
and down, dog fashion. On he went, down toward the stern of the vessel.
He was moving as swiftly as the current was, whirling, twisting like a
piece of wood. His mind dulled. He longed for death now.
Instinctively he wished to get out of all the worry and struggle
against dissolution. His one dominant idea was to throw up his hands
and go down, down the deep descent. With a great cry of relief he
yielded to the alluring thought. Up flew his arms above his head--and
he felt so warm and cheerful! Something struck his outstretched hand
and the fingers closed upon it. For a minute they gripped the swinging
piece of rope. Then he opened his eyes to find he was hanging to a
flimsy Jacob's ladder, suspended from the stern.
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