He cries, "Rosa! Rosa!" and swims high and strong. "Rosa! Rosa! Rosa!"

He is near it. He cries, "Rosa! Rosa!" and with all the energy of love
and life flings himself almost out of the water, and catches hold of the
nearest thing on the raft.

It was the dead man's leg.

It seemed as if it would come away in his grasp. He dared not try to
pull himself up by that. But he held on by it, panting, exhausting,
faint.

This faintness terrified him. "Oh," thought he, "if I faint now, all is
over."

Holding by that terrible and strange support, he made a grasp, and
caught hold of the woodwork at the bottom of the rail. He tried to draw
himself up. Impossible.

He was no better off than with his life-buoy.

But in situations so dreadful, men think fast; he worked gradually
round the bottom of the raft by his hands, till he got to leeward, still
holding on. There he found a solid block of wood at the edge of the
raft. He prised himself carefully up; the raft in that part then sank a
little: he got his knee upon the timber of the raft, and with a wild
cry seized the nearest upright, and threw both arms round it and clung
tight. Then first he found breath to speak. "THANK GOD!" he cried,
kneeling on the timber, and grasping the upright post--"OH, THANK GOD!
THANK GOD!"