Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1871-08-03


up round the docks, and not to be trusted
boat's-length out of sight"
The book that Eleanor Grant was read
ing fell from her hand. Philip turned at
the sound it made, and one glance at her
white face told him she had heard all. He
thought she was falling, and sprang toward
her; but she treasured him with ges-
tme. "Wait," she said; 81 will speak
presently" When she did speak it was
steadily, almost coolly:
"a burning ship, and half-mutinous
crew. 1t is cheerful prospect we have
before u.s.
81 am glad to perceive that it does not
daunt you. Dangers often vanish as we
face them.n
Imaginary ones; but this is evidently
real enough, Do not suppose | pretend to
be superior to fear"
"No; but you have plainly that better
courage which can overcome fear"
Both were silent for moment. In the
minds of both there was a sudden sense OF
the incongruity of the situation; that in
such an awful crisis of danger they two
should stand there talking conventional
platitudes to each other, barred by COM
mon memory of the past from even that
frank sympathy which, had they really
been strangers, would have drawn them
instantly together.
As quickly as possible Eleanor escaped
to the privacy of her own room. How she
passed the next few hours she never knew;
whether she prayed, or thought, or slept,
she could not tell. 1t was past midnight
when there came tap at the door. She
rose instantly from the berth in which she
was lying, dressed, and opened it. In
stead of the captain, whom she had eX-
pccted to see, there stood Philip Arm
strong.
at has come" he said, briefly. care
you ready %
She signified her ascent. He took up
her cloak and wrapped it warmly about
her, drew out her arm into his, and led her
on deck.
There the scene was one of confusion
and terror. The matches were closely
fastened down but the thick smoke burst
ing through every crevice told of the fear
full progress the fire was making below.
The crew, sulky and disorderly, were get
ting out the boats, which were three in
number, two of them large and strongly
built, the other too small to be really ser
viceable now. The wind had changed and
was blowing hard, and the fire was not
long in bursting its bounds. Soon the
rigging was in flames, and the falling spars
added a new source of danger. One of
these struck the captain upon the head
and laid him senseless another, falling
endwise over the side, stove the largest of
the boats, which filled and Immediately
sank.
At this fresh disaster the crew became
mmanageablc. They had been drinking,
and the rufiian element among them was
in the ascendant The remaining long
boat would not now afford safe room for
ALL and, swearing that their lives were as
good as any ones, they took possession of
it; and, regardless of the commands Of the
mate and the entreaties of the passengers,
pushed off from the burning ship.
There were now six passengers, the cap
tain, the mate and two seamen-in all ten
souls-to be intrusted in one small boat.
But the flames left them no choice, and
they quickly conveyed themselves to this
forlorn refuge, carrying with them the
still insensibc captain. Morton, the mate,
was a faithful fellow and good seaman
but somehow it was Philip Armstrong
who now became the governing force of
the party. 1t was he who gave orders,
and assigned to each one his place and task;
it was he who checked the angry oaths of
the sailors at the dcsertion of their COM
rades, and Gained the fears OF the passen-
gers. Even Eleanor, rebellious as she
might have felt at another time, accepted
his authority, and followed his slightest
glance to obey it.
Alone now on the wide, painless sea.
The sky above was thick with clouds, the
Gruy Eagle blazing on the horizon their
only beacon. All night they drifted, and
the morning broke gray and cold. The
wind steadily increased, and before noon it
blew gale. The sea ran so high that
every moment it threatened to ingulf them.
They were drenched with the dash Of the
waves and with the cold rain that had
begun to fall. Their small stock Of food
was so saturated with sea-water as TO be
almost mcatablc, and even this poor NOR
sci they were obliged to apportlon rigidly
lest the supply should fail.
Days and days went by, yet no help
came. They grew weak with hunger aud
the toll Of rowing. They suffered alternately
from the scorching sun and the bitter cold
Eleanor felt that she must have persisted
but for the watchful care Of Philip. He
took off his own cloak to add to hers, and
his coat to wrap her halffrozen feet. She
would have prevented him, but he wa:
stronger than she, and forced the things
upon her. Next she detected him stintine
his own scanty ration to increase hers
She put it back with her hand. "No, no ?
she said, in a passionate whisper. cit il
too much. You strip yourself that may b.
warm you starye yourself to give me food
You kill me with your limitless forgive
ness %
"Oh, Eleanor" he answered, claspin,
the hand she extended, "it is you wh'
should forgivel How meanly | wrongeo
you! how cruel were my petulant doubts =
Something like her old, bright, playful
smile broke over Eleanor's pale face as
frankly leaving her hand in his clasp, sh,
answered in the same low tone, ave ar
equal in poverty at last, are we not? W,
can afford to be friends now"
Philip pressed the thin hand convulsively
to his lips and so, silently, the new cove
nant between them was sealed.
Will you believe me if tell you tina
these two were actually happy2 Not al
the horrors of their situation could over
balance their Joy in the recovered posses
sion of each other. They smiled now, ant
even TESTED gayly at the suferings and pri
yatlons that had seemed so terrible. They