grey as the twilight fell. Billy and the Captain talked no more, for every last ounce of strength was being put into the effort of clinging to the boat. The seas rose higher and snatched at them as they hung against the side, more than once it seemed that their hold must be torn loose. It became plain to the boy, as he clung determinedly, with one arm around the old man and one flung over the ridge of the keel, that the boat was growing heavier and more water-logged with every wave to which she rose, that their one support was slowly settling beneath them.
Captain Saulsby muttered something in his ear, but it was a moment before he could quite understand the half-whispered words.
“She’s an old craft, and I’m her captain,” he said, “it’s the right way for a boat and her old skipper to go down. But you’re young; it’s a shame for you, Billy. You would have made a good sailor; that’s the best I can say for any man.”
He did not speak again, nor even try to move, he seemed to have lapsed practically into unconsciousness. Billy still clung to him and to the boat while his arms ached, then pricked and burned and finally became numb.
