But all could see the peril. Stout the heart
Would dare to face the raging flood and fire,
And to his call responded not a man--
Save Paul and one who perished at the helm.
They went as if at bugle-call to drill;
Their comrades said, 'They never will return.'
Stoutly and steadily Paul rowed the boat
Athwart the turbid river's sullen tide,
And reached the wounded struggling in the flood.
Bravely they worked away and lifted in
The helpless till the boat would hold no more;
Others they helped to holds upon the rails,
Then pulled away the over-laden craft.
We cheered them from the shore. The maddened foe
With furious volleys answered--hitting oft
The little craft of mercy--hands anon
Let go their holds and sunk into the deep.
And in that storm Paul's gallant comrade fell.
Trimming his craft with caution Paul could make
But little headway with a single oar--
Clutched in despair and madly wrenched away
By drowning souls the other. Firm and cool
Paul stood unscathed; then fell a sudden shower
That broke his bended oar-stem at the blade.
Down to the brink we crept and stretched our hands,
And shouted, 'Overboard, Paul! and save yourself.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79