Ready with gentle hands to close our eyes?
Leon Lyndon had only one tie to bind him to life—this fair, loving daughter—but he knew they must be parted now, and he drew her close to the ladder, followed by Laurier, who had been most impatiently waiting, and again renewed his prayers to the men who were still crowding into the last boats.
It was a sight to touch the coldest heart to anger to see such selfishness, so many men crowded into the few boats with just a few fortunate women and children who had had husbands and fathers strong enough to force a way for them.
But on deck there were a score of people, two-thirds women and children, who were preparing to cast themselves into the sea on frail planks and life preservers, their only refuge.
The last boat was filled, and there was but one woman in it. The rowers were putting off when a loud voice cried authoritatively:
“Hold! You can crowd in another and you shall take this lady, or I will sink the boat, by thunder, and send your selfish souls to Hades!”
It was a threat not to be lightly treated, and the rowers waited, turning their white, angry faces to the ladder where a man clambered down, assisting a beautiful young girl.
It was Frank Laurier who had broken in on Lyndon’s unheeded and uncared-for pleadings, crying abruptly:
“They will not hear you, sir, but give her to me and I will force them to take her in, or I will spring into the sea and overset the boat!”
And catching the astonished girl from her father’s clasp, for the exigencies of the moment admitted of no ceremony, he made the bold stroke that insured Jessie’s safety, placing her swooning form in the boat with the grumbling crew who yet dared not refuse his command.