"It is dreadful—can no one do anything for him?" begged Miss Roberts.
"I can't swim a stroke, lady," said the man at the steering oar.
No one volunteered to go. Smith slowly drifted off as the boat sagged back upon her drag. Then he disappeared entirely in the darkness.
"The brute—I didn't think it was in him," said Miss Billings, with feeling.
"Don't talk that way," said Miss Roberts. "Don't talk that way of a man who did what he has done. I forgive him with all my heart——"
The morning dawned, and the sea rolled with less vigor. The boat was still able to keep herself clear. The white faces of the men told of the frantic endeavor. The women were now nearly all too exhausted to either care for anything or do anything. They lay listless upon the boat's bottom, and she made better weather for that fact. By nine o'clock a steamer was heading for them; and within an hour they were safe aboard and bound in for New York. They arrived a few days later.
The chief mate's boat had kept her course to the southward after leaving the berg—she had gone ahead of Smith's. By midnight that night she was almost dead ahead of the second officer's boat when Smith jumped in to save the old man.
Daylight showed Wylie a dark speck on the horizon; and at the same time he saw the smoke of the approaching steamer. He had made bad weather of it, also; but with more men and less women in his craft he had kept to the oars, and, when it was very bad, had run slowly before it for several hours. This had brought him from many miles in advance to but a few ahead of Smith's boat; and he was rowing slowly ahead again by daylight. He sighted her, and noticed there were no oars; but he saw the man steering, and rightly guessed that they were hanging onto a drag.
Mr. Roberts, the nephew of Captain Brownson, sat close to the mate. He had relieved him several times during the night. Large and powerful, he was able to aid the chief mate very much.
"I think my sister is in that boat," he said as they sighted her.