as the lifeboat rose, and down with
her into the depths, still Roberts held on with the tenacity of a
sailor's grasp.

As the lifeboat surged forwards on the next sea, held behind by his
comrades' strong arms, out on the very stem he groped his way, and then
he shouted, and behind him all hands shouted, 'Come, Johnny! Now's
your time!' There's a widespread belief among our sailor friends that
the expression 'Johnny' is a passport to a Frenchman's heart. At any
rate, seeing Roberts on the very stem and hearing the shouts, the
nearly exhausted Frenchmen came picking their dangerous way and
clinging to the weather rail one by one till they grasped or rather
madly clutched at Roberts' outstretched arms. 'Hold on, mates!' he
cried, 'there's a sea coming! Don't let them drag me overboard!' And
then the Frenchmen grasped Roberts' arms and chest so fiercely that his
clothes were torn and he himself marked black and blue. Then rang out
as each poor sailor was grasped by Roberts, 'Hurrah! I've got him!
Pass him along, lads!'--and the poor fellows were rescued and welcomed
by English hearts and English hands. 'We never knowed if there was any
more, but at any rate we saved five,' said the lifeboatmen.

Having rescued this crew, all eyes were now turned to the vessel that
had for some hours been burning her signals of distress.

It was by this time four o'clock on this winter morning, and the crew
of the lifeboat were, to use their own words, 'nearly done.' They also
noticed that the lifeboat was much lower than usual in the water, but
neither danger, nor hardships, nor fatigue can daunt the spirits of the
brave, and their courage rose above the terror of the storm, and they
forgot the crippled condition of the lifeboat--both of her bows being
completely stove in by the force of her blows against the deck and the
transom of the French brig--and they responded gallantly to the
coxswain's orders of 'Up anchor and set the foresail!' and they made
for the flare of the fresh wreck for which they had been originally
heading.

The signals of distress were from a Swedish barque, the Hedvig Sophia.
She had parted her anchors in the Downs, and had come ashore in three
fathoms of water, which was now angry surf; her masts were gone, but as
the rigging was not cut adrift, they were still lying to leeward in
wild confusion. She had heeled over to starboard, and her weather rail
being well out of the water, afforded some shelter