*

The worst of the ordeal was over; the snow ceased, the hurricane fined
off, and only the turbulent water rushing in discoloured mountains under
the last impetus of the wind--only that cruel water persisted in
violence. It seemed as if for days the sea were sentient, and could not
forget its long torture. Then came a griping frost and a hard sky, with
slight breeze and a quiet sea.

Oh, the marks of ruin and annihilation! The sea was strewn with
wreckage; masses of timber swung around in loose rafts; vessels, bottom
up, passed the smack from day to day; the fleet was dispersed, and only
a few battered and ragged vessels could be seen rolling here and there
in disorganized isolation. "Goodness knows when we shall ever see our
people again, sir. We can't do nothin'; I'll keep a sharp look-out all
through daylight, and we'll pick them up if we can, but I fancy most of
them have run for home or the Humber. Before we settle to work again I
was thinking of a little thanksgiving service. We're saved for some good
purpose, sir, and it's only fit we should say a word humbly to our
blessed Father in heaven."

And all on board met in the simple North Sea fashion, and even the
patients had their say. Only Tom Lennard remained impenetrably silent;
he knew too much; he was a past-master in the mystery of mysteries. The
people used to say in Ravenna, "Behold, there is the man who has been in
hell," when they saw the awful face of Dante; poor, loose-brained Tom
Lennard had also seen that which may not be made known.

"There's some on 'em right ahead, skipper, I think. Joe Questor's there,
I know. He hasn't lost his new mainsail. See 'em, skipper?"

A few dark grey shadows like slim poles were all that Ferrier could see;
but the man was right, and when the deft fingers--those miraculous
fingers--of the seaman had set the mizen right, the smack was sailed
with every stitch on, until she buried herself in the sulky, slow bulges
of the ground swell. Ferrier said, "You see, skipper, it's better to
risk carrying away something, than to have some poor smashed customer
waiting helpless." And the skipper cracked on with every rag he could
show until, on a sealing frosty morning, he shot in among the dismal
remains of the gallant fleet.

Ferrier's vessel would have pleased certain lovers of the picturesque if
they had studied her appearance, but she was in a dreadful state from
the prosaic seaman's point of view. Every wave had bee