They--father and daughter, as I judged them by the girl's exclamation
on the wreck--sat in the stern-sheets, their hands locked. The old man
seemed nearly insensible; leaning backward with his chin on his breast
and his eyes partially closed. I feared he was dying; but could do no
good until we reached the _Grosvenor_, as we had no spirits in the boat.
The girl appeared to be about twenty years of age; very fair, her hair
of golden straw color, which hung wet and streaky down her back and
over her shoulders, though a portion of it was held by a comb. She was
deadly pale, and her lips blue; and in her fine eyes was such a look of
mingled horror and rapture as she cast them around her,--first glancing
at me, then at the wreck, then at the _Grosvenor_,--that the memory of
it will last me to my death. Her dress, of some dark material, was
soaked with salt water up to her hips, and she shivered and moaned
incessantly, though the sun beat so warmly upon us that the thwarts
were hot to the hand.
The mad sailor lay at the bottom of the boat, looking straight into the
sky. He was a horrid-looking object, with his streaming hair, pasty
features, and red beard, his naked shanks and feet protruding through
his soaking, clinging trousers, which figured his shin-bones as though
they clothed a skeleton. Now and again he would give himself a wild
twirl and yelp out fiercely; but he was well-nigh spent with his swim,
and on the whole was quiet enough.