There was no time just then to ask questions. The companion-hatch had not been washed away, and as the seaman held up the lantern, its light fell on the figure of a man kneeling on the deck, bending over the fair face of a young girl, who reclined on a seat by the side of it.
“Rouse up a bit, sir; there’s help come when we didn’t expect it,” said the seaman.
The gentleman, for such I saw that he was, had not his voice proved it, rose from his knees. “Heaven be praised, my child may yet be saved!” he exclaimed, clasping his daughter in his arms, and scarcely appearing to notice my presence. “Alice, dearest, bear up but a little longer; we may once more hope to reach the shore.”
The young girl endeavoured, to raise herself, and feebly returned his embrace.
Then turning to me, he said, “You have arrived most opportunely. We had well nigh abandoned all hope of escaping death. What do you propose we should do?”
“As the people on board seem to say that the ship may go down any moment with slight warning,” I replied, “I think, sir, the sooner you and the young lady get into the boat, the better. We will follow you when it becomes absolutely necessary. Meantime we must see what can be done on board.”
I then told him that I belonged to a cutter, which could not be far off, and that I hoped by daylight we should see her, and that she would come to our assistance.
The gentleman, on this, took his daughter in his arms and carried her to the gangway.
“How are the poor men who were so ill?” I heard her ask.
“They are free from all pain,” was the evasive answer; but it seemed to satisfy her.