The boat was now brought right under the gangway, and the top of her mast being level with the bulwarks, submitted the shawl to the close scrutiny of the sailors. They examined it with awe and curiosity. “It isn’t bunting,” said one. “It looks like bunting too!” exclaimed another. “See how it’s rigged up!” observed a third; “hitched on anyways.” “If it ain’t a woman’s dress tore in two, I give it up,” said a fourth, “though there ain’t no woman in the boat as I can make out.” By this time they were slinging Johnson under the arms and around the middle, ready to be hoisted over the gangway. Now that he was exposed, he made a more gaunt and sickening object than Holdsworth. He was an image of famine--of manhood killed by suffering--a picture such as the memory would retain when years had impaired its powers, and driven all other vivid impressions from it. The men fell back as the piteous object was reverently raised over the vessel’s side, and placed upon a sail near the main-hatchway. Then followed the form of Holdsworth. The captain and the gentleman with the long beard approached the two bodies. “Can you tell me if there’s any life in them, Mr. Sherman?” said the captain. Mr. Sherman knelt and examined the two faces. The seamen pressed eagerly around to listen. The elements of the picturesque and the tragical entered so deeply into the scene as to make it extraordinarily impressive--the brown and rugged features of the sailors; the grave figure kneeling; the two bodies on their backs resembling skeletons poorly disguised by a rude imitation of human skin; the black shawl streaming alongside, symbolising a story of cruel, lingering, horrible death; above, the white sails of the vessel, and over all a beaming sky and a joyous sun! And add the mysteriousness of these famished and motionless visitants--their name, their country, their story unknown--their white lips sealed! “What do you think?” asked the captain. “This man,” answered Mr. Sherman, indicating Johnson, “is certainly dead; and in my opinion----” But at that moment the feeblest of feeble tremors passed through Holdsworth. “Quick!” cried Mr. Sherman, springing to his feet. “This man lives; they may both be alive! Have them taken below, Captain Duff! Quick, sir! every moment is precious!” His excitement was contagious. The captain bellowed for the steward. Others seized upon the bodies and hurried aft with them. The murmur of many voices rose and swelled into a hubbub. “Aft here to the davits, and hoist the boat up!” sang out the second mate; who, while this was doing, went below to take instructions as to the other boat, and returned with orders to get it inboard.