Into the riot went Dan. There was neither mercy nor tolerance in the
waters,--the waves ripped all about in wanton fury; the spume cloaked
the face of them in wet clouds and the sea hollows lay like black pits.
But merciless and intolerant as were the waters, Dan asked no odds of
them. Crouching in the stern with one oar dug deep, he was hurled on
his errand of mercy. The _Sovereign_ whistled its commendation, while
ashore the spectators and life-savers stood breathless. A stealthy
wave slashed the oar, almost pulling his shoulder from its socket, but
he kept the oar. Aye, he kept it and cursed the wave that sought to
take it away. On, on, as determined, as indomitable as the elements.
A wave cut the boat full. It skidded on its side and righted. A
comber rose green behind, hiding the _Fledgling_. It caught the
lifeboat before it broke. It hoisted it high and then, passing on,
expended its crushing force against the wreck ahead. And Dan laughed,
and the spindrift flying like buckshot beat against his teeth. On, on,
until the wreck, boiling in water, loomed ahead. On past the stern of
the wreck shot the small boat, until it was just under the lee of it.
There he signalled to his men to pay out the line no more.
"Jump!" he called to the three men in the rigging.
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