Twelve nights and eleven days we had been driving in the boat, when old Mr. Rarx began to be delirious, and to cry out to me to throw the gold overboard or it would sink us, and we should all be lost.  For days past the child had been declining, and that was the great cause of his wildness.  He had been over and over again shrieking out to me to give her all the remaining meat, to give her all the remaining rum, to save her at any cost, or we should all be ruined.  At this time, she lay in her mother’s arms at my feet.  One of her little hands was almost always creeping about her mother’s neck or chin.  I had watched the wasting of the little hand, and I knew it was nearly over.

The old man’s cries were so discordant with the mother’s love and submission, that I called out to him in an angry voice, unless he held his peace on the instant, I would order him to be knocked on the head and thrown overboard.  He was mute then, until the child died, very peacefully, an hour afterwards:  which was known to all in the boat by the mother’s breaking out into lamentations for the first time since the wreck—­for, she had great fortitude and constancy, though she was a little gentle woman.  Old Mr. Rarx then became quite ungovernable, tearing what rags he had on him, raging in imprecations, and calling to me that if I had thrown the gold overboard (always the gold with him!) I might have saved the child.  “And now,” says he, in a terrible voice, “we shall founder, and all go to the Devil, for our sins will sink us, when we have no innocent child to bear us up!” We so discovered with amazement, that this old wretch had only cared for the life of the pretty little creature dear to all of us, because of the influence he superstitiously hoped she might have in preserving him!  Altogether it was too much for the smith or armourer, who was sitting next the old man, to bear.  He took him by the throat and rolled him under the thwarts, where he lay still enough for hours afterwards.

All that thirteenth night, Miss Coleshaw, lying across my knees as I kept the helm, comforted and supported the poor mother.  Her child, covered with a pea-jacket of mine, lay in her lap.  It troubled me all night to think that there was no Prayer-Book among us, and that I could remember but very few of the exact words of the burial service.  When I stood up at broad day, all knew what was going to be done, and I noticed that my poor fellows made the motion of uncovering their heads, though their heads had been stark bare to the sky and sea for many a weary hour.  There was a long heavy swell on, but otherwise it was a fair morning, and there were broad fields of sunlight on the waves in the east.  I said no more than this:  “I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord.  He raised the daughter of Jairus the ruler, and said she was not dead but slept.  He raised the widow’s son.  He arose Himself, and was seen of many.  He loved little children, saying, Suffer them to come unto Me and rebuke them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.  In His name, my friends, and committed to His merciful goodness!” With those words I laid my rough face softly on the placid little forehead, and buried the Golden Lucy in the grave of the Golden Mary.