ye ahead as a big wave rolled astern. "Now!"
he shouted. "Lower away, there!"

The boat dropped into the cup of a sea, rose level with the rail the
next instant, and tossed perilously. I saw the two women huddled in
the bottom of her, their eyes covered, saw Williams climbing over them
and easing her at the bowline. Then, as we seized the next instant of
the rhythm, and hauled her alongside, Peterson made a leap and went
aboard her, and Williams scrambled back, once more, across the two
huddled forms. I saw him wrench at the engine crank, and heard the
spitting chug of the little motor. They fell off in the seaway,
Peterson holding her with an oar as he could till the screws caught.
Then I saw her answer the helm and they staggered off, passing out of
the beam of our search-light, so that it seemed to me I had said
good-by to Helena forever.

We who remained had no davits to aid us, and must launch by hand. For
a moment I stood and made my plans. First, I called to Willy, our
deck-hand, who had the dingey now astern, some fashion. "Are you
ready?" I demanded: but the next moment I heard his call astern and
knew that, monkey-like, he had got her over and was aboard her
somehow.

"Now, boys," said I, "come here and shake hands with Black Bart." They
came, their serious eyes turned up to me. And never has deeper emotion
seized me than as I felt their young hands in mine. We said nothing.

"Now, bear a hand there, you, Jean!" I pulled open the gate of the
rail, and ran out the landing stage, on which the flat-bottomed skiff
sat. With an oar I pushed it across at right angles as nearly as
possible when she cleared. "Quick! Get in, both of you," I called. I
was holding the inboard end of the plank under a wedged oar shaft,
thrust below the sill of the forward cabin door. They scrambled out
and in, Jean grasping the bight of the painter that I handed him, and
passing it over the rail.

"Now, look out," I called, and dropped the landing stage to meet the
swell of the next wave. They slid, tilted, righted, rose high--and
held. The next moment I sprang, fell into the sea, was caught by the
collar as my hand grasped the cockpit coaming, and so I slid in,
somehow, over the end deck, and caught the end of the painter from
John's hand and cast her free.

The drift carried us off at once, and the next wave almost hid the
hull of the _Belle Helene_. I knew at once we were powerless, and that
our one hope lay in drifting ashore.