disappear, till one alone remains
clinging to a plank. We see him tossed to and fro, looking wildly
towards us for help. Not another human being of those who stood on the
deck of the foundered vessel remains alive. Will this one be saved? I
feel a deep pity for him. As I watch him, I lift up my heart in prayer
to God that he may be saved.

The gale has been decreasing, and the ship lies-to more easily. We hope
in a short time to make sail. The seaman still floats in sight. At
length I believe a boat would live. I ask Captain Fuller leave to go in
search of the man, and sing out for volunteers. No lack of them. We
must have drifted some way to leeward of the man; but still, as I took
the bearings when I last saw him, I believe that I can find him. Away
we pull; the seas are heavy, but long, and do not break much. I look
out in vain for the seaman.

"He must have gone down before this," I hear one of the crew remark.

"But the plank would be floating still," I observe. "That man has a
soul, whoever he may be. If we save his body, by God's grace his soul
may be saved."

This thought encourages me to persevere. Often the boat is half full of
water, but we bail her out, and pull on. Already we are at some
distance from the ship, when I see a dark, speck rise on the crest of a
sea and then disappear. My hopes rise that it is the person of whom we
are in search. We hear a faint cry. He is still alive. The crew
cheer, and pull lustily towards him. The stranger gazes at us eagerly:
he if a youth, with long light hair hanging back in the water. His
strength is evidently failing. I urge on my men. Even now I fear that
he will let go his hold ere we can reach him. Again he cries out
imploringly. A sea striking the boat half fills her with water, and I
lose sight of the lad.

"He is gone, he is gone!" some of the men cry out. But no; I see his
hair far down, close under the stern of the boat I plunge in, and
diving, grasp it and bring him to the surface. The boat has forged
ahead. With difficulty I get him alongside, and we are hauled on board.
The young man has still life in him, but cannot speak. We pull back to
the ship, more than once narrowly escaping being swamped. It is some
time before the stranger can speak. Even then he does not seem willing
to say much. He does not mention the name of the brig to which he
belonged, nor whether he was serving before the mast or as an officer;
but he