“Remember what you said just now, Charlie, and be brave. But even if we were to die, could we die better, little brother, than in doing our duty, and trying to save dear Ken’s life? It isn’t such a terrible thing, Charlie, after all. We must all die some time, you know, and boys have died as young and younger than you or me.”
“Ay, but not like this, Walter: out in these icy, black, horrid waters.”
“Yes, they have indeed, Charlie; little friendless sailor-boys dashed on far-away rocks that splintered their ships to atoms, or swallowed up when their vessel foundered in great typhoons, thousands of miles away from home and England, in unknown seas; little boys like you, Charlie; and they have died bravely, too, though no living soul was near them to hear their cries, and nothing to mark their graves but the bubble for one minute while they sank.”
“Have they, Walter?”
“Ay, many and many a time they have; and the same God Who called for their lives gave them courage and strength to die, as He will give us if there is need.”
There was a pause, and then Charlie said, “Talk to me, Walter; it prevents my listening to the flapping and plunging of the boat, and all the other noises. Walter, I think... I think we shall die.”
“Courage, brother, I have hope yet; and if we die we will die like this together—I will not let you go. Our bodies shall be washed ashore together—not separated, Charlie, even in death.”
“You have been a dear, dear good brother to me. How I love you, Walter!” and as he pressed yet closer to him, he said more bravely, “What hope have you then, Walter?”
“Look up, Charlie; you see that light?”
“Yes; what is it?”