Her eyes, gazing far away, seemed to gather in them the wandering rays of the moon; and when presently, scarce heeding, perhaps, what she did, she broke into a soft murmuring chant, which rose and fell with the cadence of our oars, I, at least, felt the bewitchment complete.
Little dreamed any of us how soon the peace of that brief voyage was to be broken.
When the midsummer dawn chased the moonbeams from off the water, we had reached Battersea, on a fast failing tide.

Before we reached Lambeth, the stream was turning against us; and it needed all the strength of our arms after that to make headway.

Yet how could we tire?
She never drooped the livelong night, nor, when she perceived what vigour her music lent to our rowing, did she weary of chanting to us.

Keeping close under the marshy southern bank to escape the current, we slowly made our way, till we came at length within sight of the Bridge.
Then ensued a toil beside which the labours of the night were as nothing; for the angry tide swirled fiercely through the narrow way, threatening, when we approached it, to drive us back up stream.

Yet, by dint of much effort and clinging to the piles, and, more than all, Ludar's notable exploits with the oars, we won through at last.
The first sound that met our ears was a cheery "Yeo-ho!" somewhere near, and looking up, I saw the Frenchman, with the Queen's flag at his mast- head, making ready, so soon as the tide turned, to weigh anchor and drop seaward.
He looked over at us doubtfully, as we hailed him and came alongside; but when he saw me and heard what was in the wind, he lowered his ladder and had us up into the ship.
He was a poor man, he said, and his ship ill-fitted for so brave a company; yet if we misliked not his price, and the ladies would put up with the rest, why, then, he would take us.
Then the maiden told him to make himself easy about the price.