“Somehow,” said Paddy; but how, he couldn’t remember at all.
A great fire was made in the shore-house, and the men who had been taken out of the water rendered as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
When breakfast had been served and discussed—there was no ceremony now, no distinction between officers and men, those poor mariners in their terrible plight having formed themselves into a little republic—Claude and Dr Barrett went out together.
They walked for a time in silence up and down the beach, Claude hardly daring to cast a glance seawards where the wreckage still was floating.
The doctor was the first to speak.
“This is a sad ending to all our hopes,” he said slowly.
“I cannot as yet realise it,” replied Claude. “My poor men! my poor men!”
There were tears in his eyes as he spoke, tears of which he had no reason to be ashamed.
Dr Barrett pressed his hand.
“I am older than you,” he said; “let me beseech you not to repine. It is almost cheering for me to think that the bitterness of death is past for those dear brave hearts who, remember, Captain Alwyn, died doing their duty nobly and manfully.”