The two sailors sat like logs, ready for the worst; yet with a supreme confidence in Holdsworth’s skill as a steersman, which he had already illustrated in a hundred subtle ways, appreciable to none but them. St. Aubyn lay in the bottom of the boat, motionless. The General, holding on to the mast, was seated amidships, commending his soul, and the souls of his comrades, to God, in inaudible prayers. The widow crouched with her boy, who still slept, in the stern-sheets; and beside her towered the form of Holdsworth, a yoke-line in each hand, his body inclined forward, his shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows, every nerve, every muscle in him strung to the tension of steel, his glittering eyes fixed upon the seas ahead, his whole attitude resembling a sculptured personation of audacity, skill, and the finest British courage. The dawn broke and found them swinging over an ugly sea, with the wind moderating. As the pallid light spread over the bleak surface of gray and moving waters, the weary shipwrecked men turned their eyes about in search of a vessel; but the ocean was tenantless save by its own leaping seas, which played around in an eternal mockery of a fluctuating hilly horizon. They were now sailing due south. Holdsworth steered the boat, and Winyard baled her out; but, thanks to the wonderful skill with which the rudder was used, no single sea had been shipped, and what water there was consisted of the spray that had been blown into the boat off the crests of the waves when she was in their hollows. The sun rose and diffused an exquisite pink through the ribbed clouds that barred the sky. His glorious light flashed jewels upon the water, and sent a message of hope among the inmates of the tiny boat striving amid the wild and throbbing wilderness of the deep. The General stood up, and arching his hand over his eyes, gazed slowly and intently around the whole circumference of the water-line. “We are alone,” he said; but instantly corrected himself. “No, I speak thoughtlessly. We have God with us. He has been with us all night. We thank Thee, O God,” he murmured, folding his hands and reverently lifting his face to the sky, “for Thy protection; and we humbly implore Thee not to abandon us, but to be with us in our anguish and desolation, and in Thine own good time to snatch us from the perils that encompass us.” They all cried Amen! “The wind’s lulling, master,” said Johnson to Holdsworth. “We’ll have the sea smooth before long.” “Oh, Mr. Holdsworth!” exclaimed Mrs. Tennent, starting up suddenly and hurriedly removing his coat from her shoulders, “how cruelly selfish I have been to deprive you of this covering throughout the long cold night.” “I’m better without it,” cried Holdsworth. “Even my shirt-sleeves were too heavy for me--you see I have had to turn them up. Winyard, rouse up Mr. St. Aubyn. We shall be none the worse, any of us, for a mouthful of biscuit.”