But when the boat came near enough for them to leap in there was a pause. Even in here the outer swell made itself felt, and without careful handling a calamity was imminent at the last moment. Therefore Mr. Peck shouted to the little group to watch when the swell came gently, as it did after every three rolls, when he would let the boat almost graze the rocks, and four, no more, at a time, must jump into the middle of the boat. Then it was seen that the refugees were encouraging three smaller figures, patting them, pointing to the boat, making signs as they talked, until one voice rang out sharply from the shore: ‘Dear boys, these three are women--do try and catch them, they’ve suffered so much.’ Ah! had any stimulus been wanted this would have supplied it, for it is the glory of the Anglo-Saxon race, and especially of the American branch of the old tree--its reverence for woman, whether mother, wife, or sister. The boat rose gently shoreward, the officer shouted, ‘Now,’ and three shrinking figures half jumped, half fell, into the outstretched arms of the boatmen. ‘Safe, thank God!’ shouted the former speaker from the shore. The rest was easy. The remaining seven took careful bearings and leaped at the right moments until the whole ten were snugly bestowed, and it was time to turn the boat’s head seaward again.
But now she was overloaded. If it had been a heavy task coming in with her light before the swell, what would it now be going out deeply laden--not six inches of freeboard amidships--against that awful surge? For one moment Peck’s heart failed him as he weighed the possibilities. Then--and this was a miraculous thing, seeing that never before had he entertained such an idea--he lifted his cap and said, or rather shouted, for the roar of the swell was almost deafening: ‘Boys, le’s ask God t’ he’p us out of this hole. Keep her steady with the paddles. “O God, we’re all in Your han’s. We’re tryin’ t’ save life, we’re doin’ our best, we b’lieve we _kain’t_ go under without You lets us. Naow save our lives so’s we k’n praise You all the days ov our life.” Naow let her have it, boys. Paddle fur yer lives, an’ as soon ’s we strike the kelp, gather it in an’ haul fur all yer wuth. Passengers, lie still in th’ bottom o’ th’ boat.’