The gale appeared to be subsiding, for the cotton bale became more steady, and the rain had ceased to fall some time before.
The clouds broke away at last, and in the speck of blue peeped out a star. Yet the swells were terrific, and carried them onward with fearful velocity—where, only the All-seeing knew—and when the dawn appeared in the east, exhausted, chilled to the heart, bruised and nearly naked, Phil and his insensible companion were flung ashore like two poor fragments of stranded sea-weed. He had just strength enough left to crawl up out of reach of the breakers, and that was all.
His grip on Thad's arm had not relaxed for a single second since the time he seized it at the moment of the ship's final going to pieces. His fingers seemed to have stiffened around it, and it was only by a sharp effort that he was able to force them away.
"Well, dead or alive," he murmured, "I stuck by him, as I said, upon my word and honor, I would! Thad! you can't speak? Then over you go!"
And Thad might have been a barrel by the way Phil rolled him about and shook him up.
"Thad!"
This time, Phil got an answer—if a groan can be called such—and it encouraged him mightily.
"You are coming to?"
Another groan.
"You feel better?"