safe. How easy it is to write this simple word of four letters! but, to
realize it, one must have a background of despair. Since that morning,
the words "safe," "safety," "salvation," have always come to me
freighted with reality.

It is doubtful if any of the vessel's crew had seen our boat, as it was
scarcely daylight and such a small object lying close to the water would
not be readily discernible. I had thought, a few hours before, that my
strength was entirely exhausted, but the sight of the vessel called out
a reserve sufficient for the final effort.

As I slowly brought our boat alongside, some of the crew were in
evidence, getting ready for their day's work, and they seemed perplexed
to account for our early morning call. But, when we came close to the
vessel, our emaciated appearance evidently told the main outlines of our
story. They called to the others in a foreign tongue and the whole crew
crowded to the rail. One strong fellow jumped into our boat and lifted
John up while others reached down to help. Then, with their assistance,
I tumbled on board, stiff with cold and with feet like stone. They gave
us brandy and took us to the warm cabin where breakfast was being
prepared and it is difficult to say which was more grateful, the smell
of food or the warmth of the fire. John was put into the captain's bunk.
It was a good exchange for he was not far from "Davy Jones' locker." We
had been on board only a few hours when the fog rolled back again and
continued for some time afterward.

The vessel was a French fishing brig from the island of St. Malo in the
English Channel. None of the crew understood English and neither of us
could speak French, but they understood the language of distress and
kindness needs no interpreter. The captain showed me a calendar and