In the Yellow Sea

by Henry Frith

"Step in youngster," said someone.

My reverie had been suddenly cut short. I looked up, the steamer's boat was alongside.

"Just in the nick," remarked the officer. "How did you lads get into this pickle o' fish? Lucky we sighted you."

"Yes," I responded in a sleepy voice. "Is Tim there?"

"Aye, I'm here," he said.

"And your father's—body?" I asked. "Bring him out, please."

"What?" exclaimed the steersman. "A body—a dead body! Not for us. Push off, lads."

"You won't take it?" I cried. "Won't you bring it ashore?"

"No time to go ashore, youngster! There, you see, just in time! See!—she's sinking!"

I looked. The Osprey began to lurch and dip as the men pulled away. I stared in dread suspense, half dead, I fancied. Then we increased our distance. The Osprey lifted and fell, appeared again, disappeared; rose again, and just when one expected to see it once more the sea hid it and bore it out of sight for ever.