Summary

Portrait of Ralph Henry Barbour Ralph Henry Barbour For the Freedom of the Seas — Chapter 11 (1918)

He would stay where he was as long as he could. Time enough to cast adrift when his fingers no longer performed their task. He shouted no more now. He only waited and endured.
Moments passed, and then light beat on his closed lids and he opened his eyes. A wave hissed over him, but through it a white glare penetrated. The water passed, the boat rolled, and, choking and gasping, his aching body tossed sprawling against the hull, he heard a voice issue from the fierce radiance that still engulfed him.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ralph Henry Barbour Ralph Henry Barbour For the Freedom of the Seas — Chapter 11 (1918)

In one way he would better himself, for drowning was far less imminent when riding the seas than while being smothered with the waves that broke over and against the boat. And, after all, he had no choice, for he could no longer hold on. His fingers were slipping fast now and he had no strength to work them back into place. But, somehow, having decided, he found it hard to act. As unfeeling as it had proved, that submarine was tangible and friendly, and letting go would be like releasing one's hold of a rope to drop into unknown depths.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ralph Henry Barbour Ralph Henry Barbour For the Freedom of the Seas — Chapter 11 (1918)

The mere physical contact with something more solid, more stable than the hungry waves endowed his aching body with strength. If he could only hold on! The strain on his cramped fingers was terrific, and at every roll of the hull his body was thrown against it with a violence that must soon bring endurance to an end. He dashed the salt water from his face and shouted at the top of his tired lungs. And then, coming up choking and sputtering from a wave, again sent his appeal toward the deck.
Source: Wikisource

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