An old fisherman stood, with a coil of rope in his hand, close to the water’s edge.  Several of the others stood close to him, and four of them had hold of the other end of the rope.  When the boat was within fifty yards of shore, the sail was lowered; but she still drove straight on before the wind, with scarce an abatement in her speed.  A man stood in her bow, also with a coil of rope in his hand, and, as he approached, threw it far ahead.  The fisherman rushed waist deep into the water and caught the end of it, which in a moment was knotted to the one in his hand.

“Run along with her,” he shouted.

For a moment, the boat towered on the top of a wave, which raced in towards the shore.  The next, as it came, took her stern, and she was in the act of swinging round, when the strain of the rope came upon her, and brought her straight again.  Higher and higher the wave rose, and then crashed down, and the boat shot forward, like an arrow, in the foam.  The fishermen rushed forward and caught it, those on board leapt out waist-deep; all were taken off their feet by the backward rush, but they clung to the sides of the boat, while the men at the head rope, with their heels dug deeply into the sand, withstood the strain, and kept her from being swept out again.

A few seconds, and the boat was left dry, and the next wave carried it high up on the beach, amid a loud cheer from the fishermen and lookers on; but there was no time to waste, for the next boat was close at hand.  Again, the rope was thrown to the shore, but this time the strain came a moment too late, the following wave turned the boat round, the next struck it broadside and rolled it, over and over, towards the shore.  The fishermen, in an instant, joined hands, and rushing down into the water, strove to grasp the men.

Several times, those in front were knocked down and rolled up on the beach, but three of the crew were brought in with them.  There was one still missing, and there was a shout as he was seen, clinging to an oar, just outside the line of breakers.  James Walsham had been working with the fishermen in saving those already brought to shore.  He now fastened the end of a line round his body.

“You can never get through those rollers—­they will break you up like an eggshell,” the old fisherman shouted.

“I will dive through them,” Jim shouted back.  “Give me plenty of slack, and don’t pull, till you see I have got him.”

The lad waited for his opportunity, and then, rushing down after the sheet of white foam, he stood, waist deep, as a great wave, some twelve feet high, towered up like a wall towards him.  It was just going to break, when James plunged, head foremost, into it.  There was a crash which shook the earth, a mass of wildly rushing foam, and then, some ten yards beyond the spot where the wave had broken, Jim’s head appeared above the surface.  It was but for a moment, for he immediately dived again, under the next wave, and then came up within a few yards of the floating oar.  A stroke or two, and he was alongside.  He seized the man, and held up one arm as a signal.  In a moment the rope tightened, and they moved towards shore.  When they were close to the edge of the breaking waves, Jim held up his hand, and the strain stopped.