t of the foaming waters like a living
creature.

It was the boat from the neighbouring port of Brentley. Either the
storm-drift had not been so thick in that direction as in the
neighbourhood of Greyton, or the Brentley men had kept a better
look-out. She had run down to the wreck under sail. On reaching it--a
short distant to windward--the sail was lowered, the anchor dropped, the
cable payed out, and the boat eased down until it was under the lee of
the wreck. But the first joy at her appearance quickly died out of the
hearts of some, who were ignorant of the powers of lifeboats and
lifeboat men, when the little craft was seen at one moment tossed on the
leaping foam till on a level with the ship's bulwarks, at the next
moment far down in the swirling waters under the mizzen chains; now
sheering off as if about to forsake them altogether; anon rushing at
their sides with a violence that threatened swift destruction to the
boat; never for one instant still; always tugging and plunging like a
mad thing. "How can we ever get into that?" was the thought that
naturally sprang into the minds of some, with chilling power.

Those, however, who understood the situation better, had more legitimate
ground for anxiety, for they knew that the lifeboat, if loaded to its
utmost capacity, could not carry more than half the souls that had to be
saved. On becoming aware of this the men soon began to reveal their
true characters. The unselfish and gentle made way for the women and
children. The coarse and brutal, casting shame and every manly feeling
aside, struggled to the front with oaths and curses, some of them even
using that false familiar motto, "Every man for himself, and God for us
all!"

But these received a check at the gangway, for there stood the captain,
revolver in hand. He spoke but one word--"back," and the cravens slunk
away. The mild man who had offered prayer sat on the ship's bulwarks
calmly looking on. He understood the limited capacity of the boat, and
had made up his mind to die.

"Now, madam, make haste," cried the mate, pushing his way towards the
widow.

"Come, father," she said, holding out her hand; but the old man did not
move.

"There are more women and little ones," he said, "than the boat can
hold. Good-bye, darling. We shall meet again--up yonder. Go."

"Never!" exclaimed the widow, springing to his side. "I will die with
you, father! But here, boatman, save, oh, save my child!"