Emil saw his friends in tender hands, his men among their mates, and told the story of the wreck before he thought of himself.

The savoury odour of the soup, carried by to the cabin for the ladies, reminded him that he was starving, and a sudden stagger betrayed his weakness.

He was instantly borne away, to be half killed by kindness, and being fed, clothed, and comforted, was left to rest.

Just as the surgeon left the state-room, he asked in his broken voice: 'What day is this?
My head is so confused, I've lost my reckoning.' 'Thanksgiving Day, man! And we'll give you a regular New England dinner, if you'll eat it,' answered the surgeon heartily.
But Emil was too spent to do anything, except lie still and give thanks, more fervently and gratefully than ever before, for the blessed gift of life, which was the sweeter for a sense of duty faithfully performed..