uts of laughter; with the pathetic, even the roughest melted into
tears. Alphonse played on till his arm ached, and scarcely was he
rested before they begged him to go on again. Before the day closed,
however, several of the party appeared to be sinking into a state of
apathy, scarcely knowing where they were, or what they were saying.
Some clamoured loudly for food, but Devereux mildly but firmly refused
to allow any one to have more than his allotted share. Paul looked at
him with a respect he had never before felt. He seemed so cool and
collected, so different from the careless, thoughtless midshipman he had
appeared on board the frigate. He had evidently risen to the
difficulties of his position. He well knew, indeed, that the lives of
all the party would depend in a great measure on his firmness and
decision; at the same time, he knew that all he could do might avail
them nothing. He also felt compassion for Paul, who was the youngest
person on the raft. He had brought him away from the frigate, and it
was very probable that he would be one of the first to sink under the
hardships to which they were exposed. Paul was not aware that Devereux,
when serving out the food, gave him a portion of his own scanty share,
in the hopes that his strength might be thus better supported and his
life prolonged. Another night passed by, and when the sun rose, it
shone as before on a glassy sea. There was no sign of a breeze, and
without a breeze no ship could approach the raft, nor could the raft
make progress towards the land. Still Devereux persevered as before in
endeavouring to keep up the spirits of his men. Alphonse and his fiddle
were in constant requisition, and in spite of his own suffering, as long
as he could keep his bow moving, he played on with right good will.
When Alphonse grew weary, Devereux called for a tale; now for a song;
now he told one of his own adventures, or some adventure he had heard.

"Come, O'Grady, you used to be one of the best singers in the berth till
the Frenchman's shot knocked you over; try what you can do now!" he
exclaimed, so that all might hear. "Never mind the tune, only let it be
something comic, for a change," he added in a whisper; "you and I must
not let the rest know what we feel."

"I'll do my best, though, faith, it's heavy work to sing with an empty
stomach," answered O'Grady. "However, here goes:--

"'Twas on November, the second day,
The Admiral he bore away,