Onward the scow went, until once again she fetched up on a reef or a rock which the low stage of the river had brought close to the surface; there she hung.

’Poleon Doret had gone into action ere this.  Having satisfied himself that some of the Rouletta’s crew remained alive, he cast loose the painter of the nearest skiff and called to Phillips, who was standing close by: 

“Come on!  We goin’ get dose people!”

Now Pierce had had enough rough water for one day; it seemed to him that there must be other men in this crowd better qualified by training than he to undertake this rescue.  But no one stepped forward, and so he obeyed Doret’s order.  As he slipped out of his coat and kicked off his boots, he reflected, with a sinking feeling of disappointment, that his emotions were not by any means such as a really courageous man would experience.  He was completely lacking in enthusiasm for this enterprise, for it struck him as risky, nay, foolhardy, insane, to take a boat over that cataract in an attempt to snatch human beings out from the very midst of those threshing breakers.  It seemed more than likely that all hands would be drowned in the undertaking, and he could not summon the reckless abandon necessary to face that likelihood with anything except the frankest apprehension.  He was surprised at himself, for he had imagined that when his moment came, if ever it did, that he, Phillips, would prove to be a rather exceptional person; instead he discovered that he was something of a coward.  The unexpectedness of this discovery astonished the young man.  Being deeply and thoroughly frightened, it was nothing less than the abhorrence at allowing that fright to become known which stiffened his determination.  In his own sight he dwindled to very small proportions; then came the realization that Doret was having difficulty in securing volunteers to go with them, and he was considerably heartened at finding he was not greatly different from the rest of these people.

“Who’s goin’ he’p us?” the Frenchman was shouting.  “Come now, you stout fellers.  Dere’s lady on dat scow.  ’Ain’t nobody got nerve?”

It was a tribute to the manhood of the North that after a brief hesitation several men offered themselves.  At the last moment, however, Broad and Bridges elbowed the others aside, saying:  “Here, you!  That’s our boat and we know how she handles.”

Into the skiff they piled and hurriedly stripped down; then, in obedience to Doret’s command, they settled themselves at the forward oars, leaving Pierce to set the stroke.

’Poleon stood braced in the stern, like a gondolier, and when willing hands had shot the boat out into the current he leaned his weight upon the after oars; beneath his and Pierce’s efforts the ash blades bent.  Out into the hurrying flood the four men sent their craft; then, with a mighty heave, the pilot swung its bow down-stream and helped to drive it directly at the throat of the cataract.