I threw out an oar, but trembled so violently that it was as much as I could do to work it. We headed the boat for the steamer and rowed toward her. As we approached, I perceived that she was very long, bark-rigged, and raking, manifestly a powerful, iron-built ocean steamer. They hung a red light on the forestay and a white light over her port quarter, and lights flitted about her gangway.
A voice sung out: “How many are there of you?”
The boatswain answered: “Three men and a lady.”
On this the same voice called, “If you want help to bring that boat alongside, we’ll send to you.”
“We’ll be alongside in a few minutes,” returned the boatswain.
But the fact was, the vessel had stopped her engines when further off from us than we had imagined; being deceived by the magnitude of her looming hull, which seemed to stand not a hundred fathoms away from us, and by the wonderful distinctness of the voice that had spoken us.
I did not know how feeble I had become until I took the oar; and the violent emotions excited in me by our rescue, now to be effected after our long and heavy trials, diminished still the little strength that was left in me; so that the boat moved very slowly through the water, and it was full twenty minutes starting from the time when we had shipped oars, before we came up with her.
“We’ll fling you a rope’s end,” said a voice; “look out for it.”
A line fell into the boat. The boatswain caught it, and sung out, “All fast!”