In addition to the boats we have already mentioned as having left the ship, was a small cutter, (containing two midshipmen, of the names of Luttrell and Hemmings, and two men,) which was lowered into the sea by order of the first lieutenant, whose humanity induced him to take this expedient for saving the lives of the two boys.  The current was so strong that in a few moments the cutter drifted away from the ship, but the generous feelings of the boys forbade them to desert their comrades in distress, and with great exertion they pulled back to the vessel; they called for a rope, but were ordered to keep off, and again their little boat was carried away by the current.  Once more they attempted to get back, but their strength was unequal to the task, and they were carried out into the open sea.  Their situation was in many respects little better than that of the friends whom they had left upon the wreck,—­the night was pitch dark, the boat had neither mast nor sail, and the sea ran so high that they could do nothing with the oars.  Every now and then the flash of a gun, seen across the black distance, told them that the Boreas still held together, and that she was making signals of distress; but no sound reached their ears save the roar of the winds and the waves.  Even the booming of the guns was lost in that dismal roar.

The little party scarcely expected to survive the night; they were drenched to the skin, and suffering intensely from the cold; the waves broke over the bows of their frail boat, and threatened each minute to overwhelm it; but their brave hearts did not sink in utter despair; they did their utmost to keep themselves afloat, by incessantly baling out the water with their hats and hands.  They thought the night would never end, and that they should never see the morrow; but day dawned upon them at last, and then with what anxious eyes did they sweep the horizon.  But in vain they looked; not a sail was to be seen.  An hour passed away; they shipped such a quantity of water that their imperfect attempts to bale it out were almost useless.  The boat sank deeper and deeper, and their hearts sank too.  Suddenly a ship hove in sight, and she seemed to be bearing towards them.  Hope and fear struggled for the mastery in their breasts; hope urged them to renewed efforts to keep themselves from sinking, whilst, in breathless anxiety, they watched the vessel.  She came nearer and nearer; the watchers felt sure they were perceived; then a boat was lowered, and they thanked God for their deliverance.  In a few minutes they were received on board H.M. ship Thalia, more dead than alive, after so many hours’ endurance of cold, hunger, and dismay.