“Think of the women,” he said, addressing the group, and hoping yet to move some one. “Have you no wives or daughters? Have none of you mothers? There is one lady there whose gray hairs ought to remind you of a mother. Would you stand idly here if your own was in such extremity? Have none of you sisters? That young, delicate-looking creature there should appeal to your hearts.” As he spoke, he pointed vehemently to the wreck; but no one moved. Suddenly, he began to disencumber himself of his superfluous clothing. “I, at least,” he said, “will not see them perish without an effort to save them. A strong man, I am sure, might swim out, by taking advantage of the breakers. He can’t run any great risk, either; for, if he fails, he can be drawn ashore again by the rope. Run, some one, to the boat, and bring the halyards. I will tie one end about my waist; the other can be held fast here; if we splice it, we can make it long enough.” By this time he had thrown off his coat and waistcoat, and was proceeding to disencumber himself of his boots, when suddenly one of the men spoke up. It was Newell, the one whom Mullen had asked to volunteer. He was a youth about nineteen, powerfully built, and deep-chested like a bull, who had been watching his leader and listening to his words, with a face whose agitated working showed the tumult in his heart. His honest nature could now endure it no longer. “Stop that,” he cried, stepping forward, and laying his hand on Major Gordon’s arm. “You’re not agoing. I say, you’re not agoing, sir,” he added, determinedly, “for I’m going myself.” And he began doggedly to strip at the words. “I’m the best swimmer here, and therefore the properest man to undertake the job. I can do it, when you’d drown.” “But—” began Major Gordon. “Look here, Major,” interposed the youth, fiercely. “Don’t you think other men’s got feelings as well as you? Don’t you ‘spose I can pity ‘em,” and he jerked his finger over his shoulder in the direction of the wreck, “as much as some others? I only waited till I saw you were in real earnest; for it’s more than an even chance the man drowns that tries it, and that’s enough to make any one hold back a bit; but since you’re fixed to go, I’ll go instead.” “I have a right to throw away my own life, but not to ask you to throw away yours,” said Major Gordon, putting his hand on the youth, as if to stop his further disrobing. “No, I shall go.” The youth looked fiercely on the speaker, as if he would have liked to knock him down, provided their relations in life had been more equal; but he contented himself with shaking off the Major’s hand, and continuing, with rude directness— “My life’s my own, and yours is your country’s. If I drown, there’s no one to cry over it, not even my poor old mother; for she died last winter, God pity her, after the refugees robbed her.” And he brushed a tear hastily from his eye.