ince I last wrote in this book.
As I was writing I heard quite a commotion on deck--cries of the
sailors, sharp orders from officers, and the tramping of feet. I rushed
on deck. Uncle John and the captain were standing on the poop, looking
intently across the water; the first mate was shouting orders that I
couldn't understand, and the crew were lowering the long boat.

"What's the matter?" I asked, joining uncle and the captain.

"There's a little boat adrift out yonder," answered Uncle John pointing,
"and the lookout says that there are a couple of bodies lying in it.
There, do you see it, on the top of that wave!"

I saw it; a mere shell it seemed, poised for a moment on the top of a
swell, and then sliding down into the trough of the sea, quite out of
sight. The long boat was soon lowered, and, guided by the cries of the
lookout, made straight for the little boat. It seemed very long before
it was reached, and then we saw the sailors make it fast to the long
boat and begin to pull slowly back toward the _Albatross_. It was slow
and hard work towing that boat, small as it seemed, through the rather
heavy sea. There was no sign of life in her. What was behind those low
gunwales? What were the men bringing to us? At length they came
alongside, and then we saw that there were two bodies lying there.

"A man and a woman, sir," called up the mate. "There's life in 'em both,
but precious little."

It was nice work getting the two boats alongside and the bodies out of
them and up to the deck; but it was done by the aid of slings, the woman
being brought up first. Uncle John, by virtue of his profession, gave
directions as to placing her on the deck, and then knelt by her side. I
stood aloof. Why had that woman come to us in mid-ocean! Why was it?
Fate?

"She is alive," cried Uncle John. "Captain, we must get her below at
once."

I glanced at the woman. Thick locks of matted black hair lay around a
face on which the sun and wind and the salt sea-water had done fearful
work. And yet those blackened and blistered features somehow had a
familiar look. Where had I seen them? I could not tell. Four sailors
carried her below and I turned to look at her companion, who had been
laid on the deck. Uncle John just took time to grasp his wrist and said,
"He's alive, too"; then he dropped the limp hand and hurried below.
Always the way. Women first. This dying man might get what attention he
could. The woman must be nursed back t