The two vessels were not fifty feet apart.  With all my strength I hurled the coil of rope.  The steamer’s stern was above me, and I aimed high.  The flying coil went over the deck of La Fidelite, but in my excitement I forgot to grasp tightly the other end of it, and the whole rope flew from me and disappeared beyond the steamer.  Stupefied by this deplorable accident, I staggered backward and a heave of the vessel threw me against the rail.  Recovering myself, I glared about for another rope, but of course there was none.

Then came a shout from Mary Phillips.  But she had already passed me, and as I was to the windward of her I did not catch her words.  As I remembered her appearance, she seemed to be tearing her hair.  In a flash I thought of my resolution.  Rushing to the rail, I put the trumpet to my mouth.  The wind would carry my words to her if it would not bring hers to me.

“Tell Bertha to come on deck!” I shouted.  Mary Phillips looked at me, but did not move.  I wished her to rush below and bring up Bertha.  Not an instant was to be lost.  But she did not move.

“Tell her I love her!” I yelled through the trumpet.  “Tell her that I love her now and shall love her forever.  Tell her I love her, no matter what happens.  Tell her I love her, I love her, I love her!” And this I continued to scream until it was plain I was no longer heard.  Then I threw down my useless trumpet and seized the glass.  Madly I scanned the steamer.  No sign of Bertha was to be seen.  Mary Phillips was there, and now she waved her handkerchief.  At all events she forgave me.  At such a terrible moment what could one do but forgive?

I watched, and watched, and watched, but no figure but that of Mary Phillips appeared upon the steamer, and at last I could not even distinguish that.  Now I became filled with desperate fury.  I determined to sail after Bertha and overtake her.  A great sail was flapping from one of my masts, and I would put my ship about, and the strong wind should carry me to Bertha.

I knew nothing of sailing, but even if I had known, all my efforts would have been useless.  I rushed to the wheel and tried to move it, pulling it this way and that, but the rudder was broken or jammed,—­I know not what had happened to it.  I seized the ropes attached to the boom of the sail, I pulled, I jerked, I hauled; I did not know what I was doing.  I did nothing.  At last, in utter despair and exhaustion, I fell to the deck.

But before the wind had almost died away, and in the afternoon the sea was perfectly calm, and when the sun set I could plainly see the steamer on the faroff edge of the glistening water.  During the whole of the next day I saw her.  She neither disappeared nor came nearer.  Sometimes I was in the depths of despair; sometimes I began to hope a little; but I had one great solace in the midst of my misery—­Bertha knew that I loved her.  I was positively sure that my words had been heard.