"My men," the captain cried, " I'll try;

The woman's judgment may be right;

For sink or swim, eight men must die

If here we swing to-night."

Far out he marked the gathering surge;

Across the bar he watched it pour;

Let go, and on its topmost verge

Came riding in to shore.

�It struck the breaker's foamy track,

�Majestic wave on wave unphurl�d,

�Went grandly, toppling, tumbling back,

�As loath to flood the world.

�There blindly whirling, shorn of strength,

�The captain drifted, sure to drown;

�Dragg'd seaward half a cable�s length,

�Like sinking lead went down.

Ah, well for him that on the strand

Had Mother Becker waited long;

And well for him her grasping hand

And grappling arm were strong.

�For what to do but plunge and swim?

�Out on the sinking billows cast,

�She toiled, she dived, she groped for him.

�She found and clutched him fast.

�She climbed the reef, she brought him up,

�She laid him gasping on the sands;

�Built high the fire and filled the cup,�

�Stood up and waved her hands.

�Oh, life is dear! The mate leaped in;

�Himself he tries to save.

�The goal seemed more than he could win

�For he was weak though brave.

Her crippled step-son now comes down,

To mother's help he wants to go,

And heeding not his mother's frown,

He tries what he can do.