d off
his coat, and as he pulled the bow, I waited for the signal
stroke. It came, gently, but firm; and the next moment
we were pulling a long, steady stroke, gradually increasing 20
in rapidity until the wood seemed to smoke in the row-locks.
We kept time, each by the long, deep breathing
of the other.

Such a pull! We bent forward until our faces almost
touched our knees; and then throwing all our strength into 25
the backward movement, drew on the oar until every inch
covered by the sweep was gained. Thus we worked at the
oars for fifteen minutes, and it seemed to me as many
hours. The sweat rolled off in great drops, and I was enveloped
in a steam generated from my own body. 30

"Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin?" I gasped out.

"Almost, Captain," said he; "don't give up!"

The oars flashed as their blades turned up to the moonlight,
for the men who plied them were fathers and had
fathers' hearts.

Suddenly Mr. Larkin ceased pulling, and my heart for a
moment almost stopped its beating; for the terrible thought 5
that he had given out crossed my mind. But I was reassured
by his voice: "Gently, Captain, gently; a stroke
or two more; there, that will do," and the next moment
Mr. Larkin sprang upon the ice. I started up, and calling
to the men to make fast the boat to the ice, followed him. 10

We ran to the dark spot in the center of the mass and
found two little boys. The head of the smaller was resting
in the bosom of the larger, and both were fast asleep. The
lethargy which would have been fatal but for the timely
rescue had overcome them. 15

Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut off his shoes, tore
off his jacket, and then, loosening his own garments to the
skin, placed the cold child in contact with his own warm
body, carefully wrapping his overcoat around him. I did
the same with the other child, and we then returned to the 20
boat.

The children, as we learned when we had the delight of
restoring them to their parents, were playing on the cake
of ice, which had jammed into a bend of the river about ten
miles above New York. A movement of the tide set the 25
ice in motion, and the little fellows were borne away that
cold night and would inevitably have perished but for Mr.
Larkin'