The sailors standing in the bow and the stern let out the ropes little by little, the vast black hulk of the ship began to loom up above them all, higher and higher, and to their eyes the lifeboat began to grow smaller and smaller, more and more frail, more and more pitiful.

All at once it struck the water with a crash, in an instant it was tossed up again in the air, heaving on the crest of a wave, was carried in and dashed up against the ship, all the oars on that side snapping in an instant.  It was a fearful moment; the little boat was unmanageable in an instant, leaping and plunging among the waves like a terrified horse, banged and battered between the heaving water and the hull of the steamer itself.  Vandover believed that all was over; he partially rose from his seat preparing to jump before the boat should swamp.

There was an interval of shouting and confusion, the first engineer and the crew leaning over the sides fending off the boat with the stumps of the oars and with long boathooks.  Some oars were shipped to the other side to take the place of the broken ones, and a score of hands tugging at them, the boat was at length pulled away out of danger.

The lifeboat had been built to hold thirty-five people; more than forty had crowded into it, and it needed all prudence and care to keep it afloat in the heavy seas that were running.  The sailors and two of the passengers were at the oars, while the first engineer took command, standing in the stern at the steering-oar.  He was dressed in a suit of oilskins, a life-preserver strapped under his arms; he wore no hat, and at every gust his drenched hair and beard whipped across his face.

Just as the boat was pulling away from the wreck, Vandover and the others saw the little Jew of the plush cap with the ear-laps standing upon the rail of the steamer, holding to a stanchion.  He believed that he had been abandoned, and screamed after them, stretching out his hands.  The engineer turned and saw him, but shook his head.  “Give way there!” he commanded the men; “there’s no more room.”

The Jew flung his satchel from him and jumped; for a moment he disappeared, then suddenly came up on the crest of a wave, quite close to them, gasping and beating his hands, the water running out of his mouth, and his plush cap, glossy with wet, all awry and twisted so that one ear-lap hung over his eye like a shade.  In another moment he had grasped one of the oar-blades.  Every one was watching and there was a cry, “Draw him in!” But the engineer refused.

“It’s too late!” he shouted, partly to the Jew and partly to the boat.  “One more and we are swamped.  Let go there!”

“But you can’t let him drown,” cried Vandover and the others who sat near.  “Oh, take him in anyhow; we must risk it.”

“Risk hell!” thundered the engineer.  “Look here, you!” he cried to Vandover and the rest.  “I’m in command here and am responsible for the lives of all of you.  It’s a matter of his life or ours; one life or forty.  One more and we are swamped.  Let go there!”