raft had been dropped farther astern by the seamen, that those on board of it might not suffer from the smoke and heat; and the sailors, one after another, lowered themselves down and were received by the boats.  Philip desired Captain Barentz to go before him, but the captain refused.  He was too much choked with smoke to say why, but no doubt but that it would have been something in praise of the Vrow Katerina.  Philip then climbed out; he was followed by the captain, and they were both received into one of the boats.

The rope which had hitherto held the raft to the ship, was now cast off, and it was taken in by the boats; and in a short time the Vrow Katerina was borne to leeward of them; and Philip and Krantz now made arrangements for the better disposal of the people.  The sailors were almost all put into boats, that they might relieve one another in pulling; the remainder were placed on the raft, along with the soldiers, the women, and the children.  Notwithstanding that the boats were all as much loaded as they could well bear, the numbers on the raft were so great that it sunk nearly a foot under water when the swell of the sea poured upon it; but stanchions and ropes to support those on board had been fixed, and the men remained at the sides, while the women and children were crowded together in the middle.

As soon as these arrangements were made, the boats took the raft in tow, and just as the dawn of day appeared, pulled in the direction of the land.

The Vrow Katerina was, by this time, one volume of flame; she had drifted about half a mile to leeward, and Captain Barentz, who was watching her as he sat in the boat with Philip, exclaimed—­“Well, there goes a lovely ship, a ship that could do everything but speak—­I’m sure that not a ship in the fleet would have made such a bonfire as she has—­does she not burn beautifully—­nobly?  My poor Vrow Katerina! perfect to the last, we never shall see such a ship as you again!  Well, I’m glad my father did not live to see this sight, for it would have broken his heart, poor man.”

Philip made no reply, he felt a respect even for Captain Barentz’s misplaced regard for the vessel.  They made but little way, for the swell was rather against them, and the raft was deep in the water.  The day dawned, and the appearance of the weather was not favourable; it promised the return of the gale.  Already a breeze ruffled the surface of the water, and the swell appeared to increase rather than go down.  The sky was overcast and the horizon thick.  Philip looked out for the land but could not perceive it, for there was a haze on the horizon, so that he could not see more than five miles.  He felt that to gain the shore before the coming night was necessary for the preservation of so many individuals, of whom more than sixty were women and children, who, without any nourishment, were sitting on a frail raft, immersed in the water.  No land in sight—­a