“Everything was sucked down in the vortex—boats and all. I held my breath till I nearly burst before I came to the surface, and there you was close beside me. You was just going down again, I judged, when I grabbed you. A good ways off was Jim Parsons, but not another soul was to be seen. Two capstan bars floated near by, but I struck out for this big piece of the poop-deck that we’re on now, which was half a ship’s length off. It must have been wrenched loose when she went down. I made shift to get on it after a hard fight, for I daren’t leave go of you for fear you’d sink. You was so limp I allowed you must be dead, and your head was bloody besides. Then I looked for Jim, but the poor fellow was nowhere to be seen.” I owed my life to the carpenter, that was certain. “Don’t thank me any more,” said the brave fellow. “You’d have done as much for me.” “How long have we been here?” I said. “Is this the first night after the accident?” “Yes, sir; this time yesterday the ship was at Nanaimo.” It seemed incredible. A mere squall had wrecked that fine ship—a blow not one twentieth part as strong as she had weathered hundreds of times before—and all on account of a shifted cargo. “Is there any water to drink?” I knew very well there couldn’t be, yet I asked the question. “No, Mr. Morgan. I happened to have this flask and an apple in my pocket, which is all we’ve got. If we were in mid-ocean now, our logs would soon be wrote up, but I make no doubt we’ll be picked up in a day or so at the most. There’s no sea on, so our chance is good.” We didn’t talk much for a long time, but just before daylight the carpenter, who had been standing up, said: “Don’t be excited, sir, but there’s a vessel bearing down.” “Where away? Point her out!” I struggled up, though it made my head swim. None but a sailor would have recognized a vessel in that dark blotch away in the north. My heart thumped pretty loud when I sighted it, and realized that the craft was coming our way. We prayed for daylight,—or I did, anyway,—and it was the first prayer I’d said for years. Well, the sun came up, and there was a large Englishman not four miles off. She couldn’t help seeing us, but we never stopped waving the carpenter’s coat—I had none—till they signalled us. No need to tell how we got picked up, or how glad we were to have a ship’s deck under our feet again. She proved to be the _Scottish Glens_, bound from Tacoma to Hamburg, and all hands were mightily interested in our story, several having seen the _St. Lawrence_ sail the morning before. There we were not a hundred miles from shore, but of course the captain wouldn’t put back, so there was nothing for it but to start on an eighteen-thousand-mile voyage. We worked our passage, and an awful one it was as far as length goes.