It is one of the most exciting experiences of
sea-life. All except the rescuing party and the man at the
wheel run up the rigging and gaze with frantic eagerness to
keep in view and direct the boat towards where they think
the object of their mission is. It often happens that all
their efforts are unavailing, and when the search has to be
given up a creepy sensation, like some shuddering hint of
death, takes possession of you. I have more than once felt
it. Sailors on these occasions are subdued and divinely
sentimental, though their courage remains undaunted.
There are, however, phases of bravery, endurance, and
resourcefulness that test every fibre of the seaman's
versatile composition; and a communication to the outer
world of the tremendous struggles he is called upon to bear
would be calculated to stagger the lay imagination. It would
take a spacious library to contain all that could be
written of his bitter experiences and toilsome pilgrimages
throughout ages of storm and stress. The pity is so much of
it is lost to us, but this again is owing to the sailor's
habitual reticence about his own career.
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