He wrung the water out of her clothes, and chafed her feet, hands, and limbs, rapidly yet tenderly, but without success. His anxiety while thus employed was very great; for he did not know the proper method to adopt in the circumstances, and he felt that if the child did not revive within a few minutes, all chance of her recovery would be gone. The energy of his action and the anxiety of his mind had warmed his own frame into a glow. It suddenly occurred to him that he might make use of this superabundant heat. Opening the little frock in front, he placed the child’s breast against his own, and held it there, while with his right hand he continued to chafe her limbs.
In a few minutes he felt a flutter of the heart, then a gentle sigh escaped from the blue lips; the eyelids quivered, and finally the child revived.
“D’ye feel gettin’ better, Emmie?” said the man, in a low, soft voice.
A faint “yes” was all the reply.
The seaman continued his efforts to instil warmth into the little frame. Presently the same question was repeated, and the child looking up, said—
“Is that ’oo, Gaff?”
“Ay, dear, ’tis me.”
“Where am I—where’s mamma?” inquired Emmie, looking round in some degree of alarm.
“Hush, dear; don’t speak just now. I’ve just brought ’ee ashore fro’ the wreck, an’ am goin’ to tak ’ee home. Try to sleep, dear.”
Gaff wrapped his jacket round the child, and hurried away in search of the highroad. He knew the place well. He had been wrecked on a reef within two miles of his native hamlet, and within three of the town of Wreckumoft. He soon found the road, and broke from a fast walk into a run. The child lay quietly in his arms, either being too much exhausted to speak, or having fallen asleep.