By this time, no one could speak with clearness. Even Jack Windy, who was the strongest, could scarcely stand upright on the raft.
“Oh! Pauvres garçons! Vîte! Vîte!”
Mr Collinson understood the words. It showed him that the men in the boat could feel for their sufferings. They were soon lifted into it, with the few articles which they had brought with them, and the boat then quickly pulled towards the ship. They were hoisted on board, for they could not help themselves. Mr Collinson was allowed to rest on a gun-carriage, near the gangway, while the rest of the party were left standing or leaning against the bulwarks. Bill and Tommy sunk down from weakness on the deck. The French seamen, however, immediately brought them up a jug of water, of which they eagerly drank.
“Well, this is sweet and nice!” said Bill, as he took the cup from his mouth.
The water, though not over-cool, greatly revived them all; and the Frenchmen stood by smiling, till they had emptied the contents of the jug. At length, a tall, stout man, with a very dark complexion, but who, by the uniform he wore, appeared to be an officer, came up to them.
“Who are you?” he demanded in a somewhat rough voice. “But I need not ask that: I see, by your dress, that you are of the English marine. But where did you come from? How did you get on the raft?”
Mr Collinson briefly replied that they had been wrecked, and finding a brig which had been deserted by her crew, they had got on board her; but she had afterwards sunk, leaving them floating on the raft.
“What vessel was she?—Oh yes, I understand,” observed the officer; and then, turning to the men, he asked, “To what ship do you belong?”
“The Lilly, sir,” said Jack, without hesitation.
“The Lilly? Why, that’s the corvette we fell in with last week, away to the westward. You said she was wrecked,” he added, turning to Mr Collinson, and speaking in somewhat broken English, though sufficiently clear to make his meaning understood.