opposing the scheme.

"Who's to tell," said Crew, "how fur off the French coast is? And what
port are we agoing to make? We're nearer the English coast now than we
are to France, and if there should come a shift," he added, casting his
moist, blood-shot eyes at the sky, and then fixing them upon the pump,
"we might be able to stagger into Plymouth or some port near it."

"This yacht," exclaimed Foster, "isn't agoing to keep afloat long, sir.
If then it's to come to that there boat," indicating with a jerk of his
chin the little boat that we carried, "we'd better launch her here than
furder out."

"Depend upon it, Mr. Barclay," exclaimed Caudel, "there's nothen for it
but to keep all on as we are, and wait for the weather to improve.
There are plenty of ships knocking about. Let it come clear enough for
us to be seen and we shall be picked up."

In this way ran the little debate we held, but as I am not a sailor I
am unable to repeat more of it than I have set down.

Before returning to Grace I looked at our little boat--she was just a
yacht's dinghy--and thought of the chance the tiny ark would provide us
with of saving our lives--seven souls in a boat fit to hold five, and
then only in smooth water! And yet she was the only boat we had, and
there was absolutely nothing else by which we might preserve
ourselves--scarce any materials that I could think of or see, out of
which the rudest craft could be manufactured, though the mere thought
of it coming to a raft turned me sick and faint, when I glanced at the
green slopes of the hurling hills of water, and marked the frothing of
their heads and the fathom-thick surface of yeast they shot from their
surcharged summits.

Grace was awake when I had gone on deck at daybreak, though she had
slept for two or three hours very soundly, never once moving when the
cannon was discharged, frequent as the report of it had been. On my
descending she begged me to take her on deck.

"I shall be able to stand if I hold your arm," she said, "and the air
will do me good."

But I had not the heart to let her view the sea nor the wet, broken,
shipwrecked figure the yacht made with water flying over the bow, and
water gushing from the pump, and the foam flashing amongst the rigging
that still littered the deck as the brine roared from side to side.

"No, my darling," said I; "for the present you must keep below. The
wind, thank God, is fast moderating, and the sea will be fall