So in this hard cross gale her canvas was all but useless, and, had it not been for the oars, she would have been on the rocks about the Bloody Foreland before a week was out.
How we rounded that dreadful head I scarce know.

Strong man as I was, I was well-nigh dead with the endless toil of the rowing, broken only by short snatches of repose when I laid my head down in the galley-slaves' reeking hold.

Ludar, on the contrary, grew mightier and bolder day by day.

He neither wearied nor lost heart; but like a man who has recovered faith in his destiny, he talked as if each stroke brought us nearer, not to Scotland, but to the end of our hopes and the arms of those we loved.
"Courage, Humphrey," said he, "I can row for you and me both.

Save your heart, brother, for those who shall welcome you when all this tossing and toil shall be passed." "You talk of beyond the grave." "Beyond the grave!" cried he.