Being thus compelled to sit on the platform, Cabot could get so little purchase that half his effort was wasted, and the progress made was barely noticeable.

During his frequent pauses for rest he stood up to gaze longingly at the goal that still appeared as far away as ever, and grew more unattainable as the day wore on.

At length the sun was well down the western sky, across which it appeared to race as never before.

As Cabot watched it, and vaguely wished for the power once given to Joshua, the bleakness of despair suddenly enfolded him, and his eyes became blurred with tears.
He covered them with his hands to shut out the mocking sunlight, and sat down because he was too weak to stand any longer.

He had fought his fight very nearly to a finish, and his strength was almost gone.
He had perhaps brought his craft five miles nearer to the land than it was when he set out; but after all what had been the gain?
Apparently there was none, and he would not further torture his aching body with useless effort.
In the meantime a small schooner, bringing with her a fair wind, was running rapidly down the coast, not many miles from where our poor lad so despairingly awaited the coming of night.