The south Foreland lights flash out in our face.
Dover lights shine brightly a little distance to our left.

The interminable three miles are not lessened a jot.

The crew of the Royal Wiltshire Life Boat, specially sent by the National Life Boat Association, warmly cheer the plucky Boyton.

He again asks the distance.
"Three miles", shouts back Captain Dane.
"Ah," grimly answers Boyton, with a spice of the Mark Twainish humor peculiar to him, "that's about it.

They've just told me from the life- boat its five miles, and, as your steamer is two miles long, we're right in our reckoning all around; but I don't care if it's twenty-five, I'm going to make it." "Quarter to nine .-- Boyton takes supper, lights a cigar and paddles perseveringly along, although he has now been close on eighteen hours in the water.