“There’s four of them, father; one a black man, the cook or steward, for his hands are soft, a sailor, a boy fifteen or sixteen, and a young man, I should judge about twenty, who, I think, was mate of the vessel, by his dress. They have got just the breath of life in them; starved with cold and hunger, and nothing but skin and bones. I thought that sea would have killed them, but they are alive yet.”
“God help them, but we can’t get to the island, or my cove, with this broken spar. We must run for Charlie’s.”
“Let us run under the lee of Smutty Nose,” said Ben, “get rid of this raft, and take the bodies on board, then we can go faster, else they will be dead before we get there.”
They luffed up under the island in smooth water, took Charlie on board, the dead and the living, and permitting the raft to go adrift, made all the sail they could spread for Pleasant Cove. They carried the nearly lifeless bodies into the cuddy, put them in berths, and covered them with clothes. There were flint, steel, and tinder aboard, but no wood. They took the bottom boards out of a berth and split them up to kindle, and Ben cut up the handspikes, which were white oak, and split up the windlass.
“Father,” said Charlie, “I’ll make a new and better one.”
With this supply they soon had the little place warm enough. When they reached the cove they found John Rhines there. He had been away, and arriving home just after the party set out, had kept watch of their movements. It was twelve o’clock at night when they landed. The gale was over, the clouds had disappeared, and a clear moonlight made it nearly as light as day. The wet clothing was instantly stripped from the chilled limbs of the seamen; they were put into warm blankets, and hot applications made. So affecting was the sight of these living skeletons that Mary burst into tears.
“Poor creatures! What they must have suffered!” she exclaimed. “They will die; they are as good as dead now.”
“No, they ain’t,” replied the captain, who had been putting cold water down their throats with a spoon, and found that they swallowed. “Kill a chicken, Charlie; we’ll give them some broth by and by; too much would kill them as dead as a stone. Now, Mary, a little supper or breakfast, whichever you call it, wouldn’t hurt the rest of us, after all we’ve been through this day and night.”
The rising sun was pouring its light into the windows, as with grateful hearts they sat down to eat, the captain rising every few minutes to administer a spoonful of the warm broth to his patients. The clergyman and neighbors were sent for, and funeral services performed. Then the American flag was put over the coffins, and they were borne to the grave.
“I wish we could have saved them,” said the captain; “but we will do all we can—give them Christian burial.”