When the boat came alongside, and the apparently lifeless body was conveyed to the cabin of the brigantine, every heart was touched.
"Dear little fellow! He can't be more than eighteen; and what a noble face!" said the captain, while they were stripping off his wet clothing, rubbing the body, and wrapping him in blankets. "There's life," said he after he was placed in the captain's own berth. "I can just see that he breathes, and there's a faint fluttering of the heart."
As the readiest and most efficacious means in their power, they put bags filled with hot salt to his feet and other parts of his body. His cheeks were pale, flesh cold, muscles relaxed, and eyes half closed. The crew of the man-o'-war's boat, after witnessing the rescue, endeavored to return; but they could no longer perceive the ship, and, as the only course left them by which to save their own lives, pulled for the brigantine.
A rope was thrown to them as they came under her stern, the "gig" hoisted on board, and the brigantine kept on her course.
"Make yourselves at home, boys," said the captain, "here's plenty to eat, and not much to do."
"You picked up the young gentleman, sir," said the cockswain of the gig, addressing the captain.
"Yes; he's in my berth below."
"Will he win through it, sir?"
"I think so; but there's just the breath of life in him."
"God be thanked! he's a fine young gentleman, and much thought of by all the ship's company; there's not a man but would risk his life to save him. He was very poorly when we were in Leghorn, but has been getting quite stout latterly."