He
dashed the troubled water aside, though he swam blindly, and each stroke
urged him farther from the bark, his only hope of safety. He was between
dark rolling mounds, and, on rising to their summits, a hurricane of mist
made him glad to sink again within a similar shelter. The breaking crests
of the waves, which were glancing off in foam, also gave him great
annoyance, for such was their force, that, more than once, he was hurled
helpless as a log before them. Still he swam boldly, and with strength;
nature having gifted him with more than the usual physical energy of man.
But, uncertain in his course, unable to see the length of his own body,
and pressed hard upon by the wind, even the spirit of Sigismund Steinbach
could not long withstand so many adverse circumstances. He had already
turned, wavering in purpose, thinking to catch a glimpse of the bark in
the direction he had come, when a dark mass floated immediately before his
eyes, and he felt the cold clammy nose of the dog, scenting about his
face. The admirable instinct, or we might better say, the excellent
training of Nettuno, told him that his services were not needed here, and,
barking with wild delight, as if in mockery of the infernal din of the
tempest, he sheered aside, and swam swiftly on.
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