The impact of that wave sent a long shiver through the 600-foot length of their freighter and what seemed a very wall of water shot high into the air before it fell on them with a drenching crash. It drove them to their knees.
So great was the shock, that neither Sandy nor Jerry could remember the sensation of coldness or wetness. All they could think of was that mighty weight that flattened them, almost driving the breath from their bodies.
Then the water began to wash away, and Sandy Steele felt an almost irresistible tug. Quickly, he wound his arms around the line he had only just fastened to the railing. He tried to stand up, but the rushing water knocked his legs out from under him. He seemed immersed in a whitish, greenish froth, but then, as his eyes and ears cleared he saw the low clouds swinging overhead and the lake water boiling by beneath him, and heard the despairing cry of his friend:
“Help, Sandy! Help, I’m going!”
Too late, Jerry James had rushed to finish tying his slipknot. But he had it only half finished when the wave struck. The water swept him up like a chip and now it was rushing him toward his destruction, over the side.
Sandy Steele saw his friend’s peril.
Without hesitation, he released his own grip on the line and dove for Jerry’s body.
He dove against the water and he struck Jerry with a waist-high tackle.
As his wiry arms closed around his friend’s middle, Sandy snapped his own body around in a half-twist, whirling himself against the pressure of the rope. It was well that he did, for the receding wave was pushing him in the other direction. That way, the rope would have unwound and the two boys would have rolled over the side and drowned.
But Sandy Steele’s split-second thinking applied the pressure in the right place and the rope held.