I have often told the public about that frantic
scene alongside the steamers, but words are only a poor medium, for not
Hugo, nor even Clark Russell, the matchless, could give a fair idea of
that daily survival of danger, and recklessness, and almost insane
audacity. The skipper was used to put in his word pretty freely on all
occasions, for Blair's men were not drilled in the style of ordinary
yachtsmen. Freeman, like all of the schooner's crew, had been a
fisherman, and he grinned with pleasing humour when he heard the young
lady's innocent questions.
"Bless you, Miss, that's nothing. See 'em go in winter when you can't
see the top of the steamboat's mast as she gets behind a sea. Many and
many's the one I've seen go. They're used to it, but I once seen a
genelman fainthe was weak, poor fellow--and we took aboard a dose of
water that left us half-full. He would come at any risk, and when we
histed him up on the cutter's deck, and he comes to, he shudders and he
says, 'That is too horrible. Am I a-dreaming?' But it's all use, Miss.
Even when some poor fellows is drowned, the men do all they can; and if
they fail, they forget next day."
"Could you edge us towards the cutter, skipper?" said Fullerton.
"Oh, yes. Bear up for the carrier, Bill; mind this fellow coming down."
The beautiful yacht was soon well under the steamer's lee, and the
ladies watched with dazed curiosity the work of the tattered, filthy,
greasy mob who bounded, and strained, and performed their prodigies of
skill on the thofts and gunwales of the little boats.
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