But now the life-boat men are upon the deck--a prospect of safety dawns upon all--a wild scene of excitement for a moment prevails, and there is a rush made for the gangway of the ship. Mothers shriek for their children; husbands strive to push their wives through the throng, and children are trodden down in the rush. It is a few moments before the excitement ceases, and the captain can exercise any authority; but the emigrants, checked for a minute, regain self-control, fall back from the side of the vessel, and await for orders. "How many will the life-boat carry?" the captain asks the life-boat men. "Between twenty and thirty at each trip," is the answer. "There is a very nasty dangerous sea and surf over the Sands, if too crowded we may get some washed out of her." It is at once decided, as a matter of course, that the women and children shall be taken first, and the crew prepare to get them into the boat. Two sailors are slung in bow-lines over the side of the vessel to help the women down. The boat ranges to and fro in the rush of the tide, the men do their utmost to check its sheering, hauling and easing in turn the hawsers which are passed from the ship to the bow and stern of the boat, but there is no keeping her for one moment steady; now she veers right away from the vessel as far as the cable will let her, and again comes in upon a rush of sea as if to crush herself against the wreck; up she is lifted on the crest of a wave to almost the level of the ship's deck, and down again plunges as the wave passes, many feet below, and leaves a deep and dismal gulf of tumbled sea and foam between her and the ship. It is a terrible scene; the crowd of helpless frightened people, and the comparatively small boat, tossed wildly in the rage of maddened waves, their one hope of rescue; and it is dangerous and difficult work getting the people into the boat; it would have been quite difficult and dangerous enough if all had been active and resolute sailors accustomed to scenes of danger, but how much more so, when a large proportion of those to be saved are helpless women, some aged and infirm! The women who are mothers are called first; one is led to the gangway, and shrinks back from the scene before her. The boat is lifted up on a big wave, the men stand on the thwarts with outstretched arms, ready to catch her if she falls, but the next moment the boat drops into the wild waste of water many feet below, and is half covered with a rush of foam.