e is there to make merry here, and yet reach England with the
rest?'

'Prince!' said Fitz-Stephen, 'before morning, my fifty and The White Ship
shall overtake the swiftest vessel in attendance on your father the King,
if we sail at midnight!'

Then the Prince commanded to make merry; and the sailors drank out the
three casks of wine; and the Prince and all the noble company danced in
the moonlight on the deck of The White Ship.

When, at last, she shot out of the harbour of Barfleur, there was not a
sober seaman on board. But the sails were all set, and the oars all
going merrily. Fitz-Stephen had the helm. The gay young nobles and the
beautiful ladies, wrapped in mantles of various bright colours to protect
them from the cold, talked, laughed, and sang. The Prince encouraged the
fifty sailors to row harder yet, for the honour of The White Ship.

Crash! A terrific cry broke from three hundred hearts. It was the cry
the people in the distant vessels of the King heard faintly on the water.
The White Ship had struck upon a rock--was filling--going down!

Fitz-Stephen hurried the Prince into a boat, with some few Nobles. 'Push
off,' he whispered; 'and row to land. It is not far, and the sea is
smooth. The rest of us must die.'

But, as they rowed away, fast, from the sinking ship, the Prince heard
the voice of his sister MARIE, the Countess of Perche, calling for help.
He never in his life had been so good as he was then. He cried in an
agony, 'Row back at any risk! I cannot bear to leave her!'

They rowed back. As the Prince held out his arms to catch his sister,
such numbers leaped in, that the boat was overset. And in the same
instant The White Ship went down.

Only two men floated. They both clung to the main yard of the ship,
which had broken from the mast, and now supported them. One asked the
other who he was? He said, 'I am a nobleman, GODFREY by name, the son of
GILBERT DE L'AIGLE. And you?' said he. 'I am BEROLD, a poor butcher of
Rouen,' was the answer. Then, they said together, 'Lord be merciful to
us both!' and tried to encourage one another, as they drifted in the cold
benumbing sea on that unfortunate November night.

By-and-by, another man came swimming towards them, whom they knew, when
he pushed aside his long wet hair, to be Fitz-Stephen. 'Where is the
Prince?' said he. 'Gone! Gone!' the two cried together. 'Neither he,
nor his brother, nor his sister, nor the King's niece,