their arms round each other and sobbed. Then they told poor death-like
Withers, and his wan eyes flickered with the faint image of a smile.
Ferrier gave him the remainder of the wine, and the helpless seaman
patted his benefactor's hand like a pleased child.

The gale dropped as suddenly as it had risen, but it left an immense
smooth sea behind, for the whole impetus of two successive breezes had
set the surface water hurling along, and it mostly takes a day to smooth
the tumult down.

To say that the _Haughty Belle_ was in danger would be to put the matter
mildly; the wonder was that she did not settle sooner. The only hope was
that the wind might bring the signalling vessel down before it fell away
altogether.

Larmor pointed to the boat (which had remained sound for a mercy), and
the doctor saw that he wanted her got ready. He sung out to the boy,
"Ask Withers to steady himself the best way he can, and you come up and
tell me how to clear the boat." Only one of the wire ropes needed to be
thrown off; then the boy squeaked shrilly, "Make the painter fast to a
belaying-pin for fear a sea lifts the boat over," and then Ferrier was
satisfied. His strength was like the strength of madness, and he felt
sure that he could whirl the boat over the side himself without the aid
of the falls. His evolutions while he was working on the swashing deck
were not graceful or dignified, but he was pleased with himself; the
fighting spirit of Young England was roused in him, and, in spite of
numbing cold, the bite of hunger, and all his bruises, he sang out
cheerily, "Never mind, skipper; I'll live to be an old salt yet."

Only one quarter of an hour passed, and then a vessel came curtseying