3. Be prepared to give a two-minute talk on the

Eskimos, touching on race to which they belong, methods of obtaining food, and mode of living.

THE RESCUE

On a bright moonlight night, in the month of February, 1831, when it was intensely cold, the little brig which I commanded lay quietly at her anchors inside of Sandy Hook. We had had a hard time beating about for eleven days off this coast, with cutting northeasters blowing and 5 snow and sleet falling for the most part of that time.

Forward, the vessel was thickly coated with ice, and it was hard work to handle her as the rigging and sails were stiff and yielded only when the strength of the men was exerted to the utmost. When we at length made the port, 10 all hands were worn down and exhausted.

"A bitter cold night, Mr. Larkin," I said to my mate as I tarried for a short time upon deck. The worthy down-easter buttoned his coat more tightly around him, and looking up to the moon replied, "It's a whistler, Captain; and 15 nothing can live comfortably out of blankets to-night."

"The tide is running out swift and strong, and it will be well to keep a sharp lookout for this floating ice, Mr. Larkin," said I, as I turned to go below.

About two hours afterward I was aroused from a sound 20 sleep by the vigilant officer. "Excuse me for disturbing you, Captain," said he, as he detected an expression of vexation in my face, "but I wish you would turn out and come on deck as soon as possible."

"What's the matter, Mr. Larkin?" said I. 25

"Why, sir, I have been watching a large cake of ice, which swept by at a distance a moment ago, and I saw something black upon it, something that I thought moved. The moon is under a cloud and I could not see distinctly, but I believe there is a child floating out to the sea, this freezing night, on that cake of ice."

We were on deck before either spoke another word. 5 The mate pointed out with no little difficulty the cake of ice floating off to the leeward, with its white, glittering surface broken by a black spot.

"Get the glass, Mr. Larkin," said I; "the moon will be out of that cloud in a moment and then we can see distinctly." 10

I kept my eye upon the receding mass of ice while the moon was slowly working her way through a heavy bank of clouds. The mate stood by me with the glass, and when the full light fell upon the water with a brilliancy only 15 known in our northern latitudes, I put the glass to my eye. One glance was enough.

"Forward, there!" I hailed at the top of my voice; and with one bound I reached the main hatch and began to clear away the little cutter which was stowed in the ship's 20 yawl.

Mr. Larkin had taken the glass to look for himself. "There are two children on that cake of ice!" he exclaimed, as he hastened to assist me in getting out the boat.

The men answered my hail and walked quickly aft. In 25 a short space of time we launched the cutter, into which Mr. Larkin and myself jumped, followed by the two men who took the oars. I rigged the tiller, and the mate sat beside me in the stern sheets.

"Do you see that cake of ice with something black upon 30 it, my lads? Put me alongside of that and I'll give you a month's extra wages when you are paid off," said I.

They bent to their oars, but their strokes were uneven and feeble, for they were worn out by the hard duty of the preceding fortnight; and though they did their best, the boat made little more headway than the tide. It was a losing chase, and Mr. Larkin, who was suffering torture 5 as he saw how little we gained, cried out, "Pull, lads! I'll double the captain's prize; two months' extra pay. Pull, lads! pull for life!"

A convulsive effort at the oars told how willing the men were to obey, but the strength of the strong men was gone. 10 One of the poor fellows washed us twice in recovering his oar and then gave out, and the other was nearly as far gone. Mr. Larkin sprang forward and seized the deserted oar. "Lie down in the bottom of the boat," said he to the man; "and, Captain, take the other oar! We must row for ourselves." 15

I took the second man's place. Larkin had stripped off his coat, and as he pulled the bow, I waited for the signal stroke. It came, gently, but firm; and the next moment we were pulling a long, steady stroke, gradually increasing 20 in rapidity until the wood seemed to smoke in the row-locks. We kept time, each by the long, deep breathing of the other.

Such a pull! We bent forward until our faces almost touched our knees; and then throwing all our strength into 25 the backward movement, drew on the oar until every inch covered by the sweep was gained. Thus we worked at the oars for fifteen minutes, and it seemed to me as many hours. The sweat rolled off in great drops, and I was enveloped in a steam generated from my own body. 30

"Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin?" I gasped out.

"Almost, Captain," said he; "don't give up!"

The oars flashed as their blades turned up to the moonlight, for the men who plied them were fathers and had fathers' hearts.

Suddenly Mr. Larkin ceased pulling, and my heart for a moment almost stopped its beating; for the terrible thought 5 that he had given out crossed my mind. But I was reassured by his voice: "Gently, Captain, gently; a stroke or two more; there, that will do," and the next moment Mr. Larkin sprang upon the ice. I started up, and calling to the men to make fast the boat to the ice, followed him. 10

We ran to the dark spot in the center of the mass and found two little boys. The head of the smaller was resting in the bosom of the larger, and both were fast asleep. The lethargy which would have been fatal but for the timely rescue had overcome them. 15

Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut off his shoes, tore off his jacket, and then, loosening his own garments to the skin, placed the cold child in contact with his own warm body, carefully wrapping his overcoat around him. I did the same with the other child, and we then returned to the 20 boat.

The children, as we learned when we had the delight of restoring them to their parents, were playing on the cake of ice, which had jammed into a bend of the river about ten miles above New York. A movement of the tide set the 25 ice in motion, and the little fellows were borne away that cold night and would inevitably have perished but for Mr. Larkin's espying them as they were sweeping out to sea.

1. Daring rescues are countless. Do you know of any in your community—by police, firemen, or civilians?