swallowed up in the roaring. Tired I was, aye, and weak, but I kept on working toward the vessel’s hull always. “Against the white sails and white foam I made out two others struggling like myself. ‘That you, Bill?’ said one. ‘Yes--that you, Mike?’ I heard from the other. I knew who they were then, and called out myself. Between two seas one slipped from sight. The other still crept on. ‘That you, Bill?’ I called out. ‘Bill’s gone,’ said the voice. ’Twas Mike Cannon. ‘That’s tough,’ I said. ‘It is that,’ says Mike, ‘after the fight he put up. But how’re you making out yourself?’ ‘Pretty good; how’re you?’ I said. ‘Kind of tired. I doubt if I’ll hold out much longer--something smashed inside my oilskins. My chest and a few ribs, I think--and one arm, too. A wild night and tough going, Martin.’ “There was no more chance to talk. Two awful seas followed, and after the second a quiet spell--the back suction. I looked around. I thought I saw Mike, but warn’t sure. I guess now I didn’t, for another sea, the biggest of all, tossed the whole lot of wreckage back against the hull of the _Cromwell_. There was a grinding and a battering as the spars met the hull. Myself up in the air, I looked down and found myself over her deck, and then--my guardian angel it must’ve been that whispered me then-- I let go. ‘God in heaven!’ I found myself saying, and fetched up on her deck, the luckiest man in all the North Atlantic. “Against what was left of the rail I found myself, close to the balance of the forerigging. At first I warn’t sure just where I was at all, but that’s where I found myself when my eyes were clear to see again. And when my eyes were clear I looked around. The hull of her was heaving to every sea, moving inshore maybe a foot at a time, with her bowsprit pointing to a shadow of rock or cliff ahead. I looked around again, and, so far as I could make out, everything--house, gurry-kids, booby-hatches, everything--was gone off her. Only the two stumps of her masts seemed to be left on deck. But, no--the forec’s’le hatch was left. Her bow, being so much higher than her stern, saved that. I saw that, and-- I don’t know why--toward the forec’s’le I crawled. The hatches were closed. I slid them back. Down the steps I went, and when I was below-- I don’t know why, either-- I thought of the razors in my bunk. I might’s well get them couple of razors, I says to myself, and starts for my bunk, which was in the peak--the same bunk, clear for’ard on the starb’d side, that the Turkish-bath lad is in now. ’Twas like swimming down there. The water by the butt of the forem’st, ’bout like where I’m sitting here to-night, was over my waist. I couldn’t help thinking then how deep ’twas, and getting deeper fast, with the seas pouring down the companionway. I was thinking of that--thinking I ought to’ve closed the hatches after me--and was looking back toward the steps, when I heard a little noise, or thought I did, for the pounding of the seas overhead