Dick’s voice replied, “Heave a rope and haul us in.” I felt about for one, but not a line could I find, except the lashings attached to the raft.

“Where are you?” I again cried out.

“Here, with Mr Harvey; I tried to save him,” was the answer.

Alas, how helpless I felt! With frantic haste I endeavoured to draw out some of the lashings, in the hopes of forming a line long enough to reach Dick, but my efforts were in vain. The raft was tossing wildly about. It was with the greatest difficulty I could cling on to it, pressing my knees round one of the cross timbers. I heard once more the cry:

“Good-bye, Will, God help you!” and then I knew that Dick and the young officer he was trying to save had sunk beneath the waves.

Again and again I shouted, but no voice replied. Though thus left alone, I still desired to live, and continued clinging to the shattered raft, tossed about by the foaming seas. Frequently the water rushed over me; it was difficult to keep my head above it long enough to regain my breath before another wave came rolling in. It seemed to me an age that I was thus clinging on in pitchy darkness, but I believe the catastrophe really occurred only a short time before daylight. In what direction the wind was blowing I could not tell. When the raft rose to the top of a sea I endeavoured to look round. No sail was in sight, nor could I distinguish the land. I felt that I could not hold out many hours longer. One of the baskets still remained lashed to the raft, but its contents had been washed out, and the casks of water had been carried away. Hour after hour passed by. There was less sea running, and the wind had somewhat gone down. The thoughts of my wife still kept me up, and made me resolve to struggle to the last for life, but I was growing weaker and weaker. At length I fell off into a kind of stupor, though I still retained sufficient sense to cling to the rail.

Chapter Twenty Five.

At the last gasp—Taken on board the Solway Castle Indiaman—Homeward-bound—Hopes of freedom at last—We enter the Thames—Ship brings up at the mouth of the Medway—Visited by a pressgang—Carried on board the Glatton, 56 guns, Captain Henry Trollope—Sail to join the northern fleet under Admiral Duncan—Reach Yarmouth roads—Sent to join a squadron off Helvoetsluis—The Glatton encounters a French squadron of four frigates, two corvettes, a brig, and cutter—We engage them, and our heavy carronades fearfully cut them up—They take to flight and escape—While returning to Yarmouth I fall overboard—Find a boat—Picked up by a cutter bound to Plymouth—Becalmed off the Eddystone—Am again seized by a pressgang and taken on board the Cleopatra—My despair—Sail for the West Indies—A desperate battle—Overpowered by numbers—We strike our flag—Miserable contemplations.