“Yes, yes,” cried some.  “It’s too late! there’s no more room!”

But others still protested.  “It’s too horrible; don’t let him drown; take him in.”  They threw him their life-preservers and the stumps of the broken oars.  But the Jew saw nothing, heard nothing, clinging to the oar-blade, panting and stupid, his eyes wide and staring.

“Shake him off!” commanded the engineer.  The sailor at the oar jerked and twisted it, but the Jew still held on, silent and breathing hard.  Vandover glanced at the fearfully overloaded boat and saw the necessity of it and held his peace, watching the thing that was being done.  The sailor still attempted to tear the oar from the Jew’s grip, but the Jew held on, panting, almost exhausted; they could hear his breathing in the boat.  “Oh, don’t!” he gasped, rolling his eyes.

“Unship that oar and throw it overboard,” shouted the engineer.

“Better not, sir,” answered the sailor.  “Extra oars all broken.”  The Jew was hindering the progress of the boat and at every moment it threatened to turn broad on to the seas.

“God damn you, let go there!” shouted the engineer, himself wrenching and twisting at the oar.  “Let go or I’ll shoot!”

But the Jew, deaf and stupid, drew himself along the oar, hand over hand, and in a moment had caught hold of the gunwale of the boat.  It careened on the instant.  There was a great cry.  “Push him off!  We’re swamping!  Push him off!” And one of the women cried to the mate, “Don’t let my little girls drown, sir!  Push him away!  Save my little girls!  Let him drown!”

It was the animal in them all that had come to the surface in an instant, the primal instinct of the brute striving for its life and for the life of its young.

The engineer, exasperated, caught up the stump of one of the broken oars and beat on the Jew’s hands where they were gripped whitely upon the boat’s rim, shouting, “Let go! let go!” But as soon as the Jew relaxed one hand he caught again with the other.  He uttered no cry, but his face as it came and went over the gunwale of the boat was white and writhing.  When he was at length beaten from the boat he caught again at the oar; it was drawn in, and the engineer clubbed his head and arms and hands till the water near by grew red.  The little Jew clung to the end of the oar like a cat, writhing and grunting, his mouth open, and his eyes fixed and staring.  When his hands were gone, he tried to embrace the oar with his arms.  He slid off in the hollow of a wave, his body turned over twice, and then he sank, his head thrown back, his eyes still open and staring, and a silver chain of bubbles escaping from his mouth.

“Give way, men!” said the engineer.

“Oh, God!” exclaimed Vandover, turning away and vomiting over the side.

A little while later some one on the bow of the boat called to the engineer asking why it was they were not heading for the shore.  The engineer did not answer, but Vandover in some way understood that it was too dangerous to attempt to run the breakers in such heavy weather, and that they must keep in the open, holding the boat head on to the seas until either the wind fell or they were picked up by some other vessel.