She passed straight above without making any signal, flew two miles
beyond, and then came back on her course.

"'Her observer must be sending wireless about us,' I said.

"'Yes, that is why we get no recognition,' said Moore, 'and now she's
decided to go back and report.'

"But that plane hadn't even seen us. Our spirits fell. We had been
afraid of two things, being picked up by a neutral and interned, or
captured by an enemy submarine. Now we even hoped that the enemy--that
anything---would get us, to end it all.

"We sighted a trawler about 6 P.M. on Tuesday. She had been chasing a
submarine, and so did not seem to take us very seriously at first. We
waved at her half an hour before she changed her course. We were both
too weak to stand up and signal. We could only rise on our knees.
Moore's hands were too swollen to hold a handkerchief, but I had kept my
gloves on and was able to do so. The trawler moved warily around us, but
finally threw a life-preserver at the end of a line, I yelled that we
were too weak to grasp it. She finally hove to, lowered a boat, and
lifted us aboard. Then we collapsed.

"I remember asking for a drink and getting water. The skipper would let
us take only sips, but he left a bottle alongside me and I drained it.
He gave us biscuits, but we couldn't chew or swallow them. We felt no
pain until our clothing was ripped off and blood rushed into our swollen
legs and arms. Moore lost six toes from gangrene in the hospital. My
feet turned black, but decay did not set in."