Another explanation was then bawled at Charlie, who now wished his eyes were ears, so anxious was he to hear.

“Look at that block, and then there is what they call a tally-board, and it has some printed directions on it, telling the men on the wreck just what to do.  Only watch!” he shouted.

The stouter rope had now started on its journey through the waters, and was taken on board the wreck.

“There,” said John, “you noticed the rope was doubled through that block?”

Charlie nodded assent.

“That gives us what we call an endless line—­line.  O, those noisy waves!  The line runs through the block, I told you, which must have got to the wreck by this time.  Here, you see, one end is made fast.  At the wreck the tally-board told them just where to hitch it.  Now watch!  They are hitching on to the line a bigger one yet, and that will be hauled out to the schooner, and fastened above the other line.  A second tally-board tells them what to do.”

Here John stopped to lay in a fresh stock of breath.  Charlie saw that two of the men on shore had been rigging tackles to long supports planted firmly in the sand.

“Those tackles,” resumed John, “help us straighten that second line till it is above the breakers, and—­now watch ’em—­here comes the life-car, a sort of box, you see, that we suspend from the upper rope, and at the same time it is hitched to the lower or endless line.  Now all we have got to do is to pull on that endless line, and the life-car, sliding along the upper rope, will spin right out to the vessel, and—­here she goes!”

The life-car was moving along the upper line bound for the wreck.  One or two halts occurred on the way, but the venture was ultimately successful, and Charlie saw the life-car as the crew of the wreck eagerly seized it.

“She’s coming back!” he cried.

Captain Peters shouted, “Here she comes, my hearties!  Pull away on the whip!”

This was a title for the endless line.

“Suthin’ in that life-car!” sang out one of the men.

“Not so very much, I guess,” said another.  “She runs sort of light.”

How the breakers tried to reach the car!  Several times the sea threw itself spitefully, violently upward.  One breaker seemed to make a spring for the car, wetting it with a cloud of spray.

“A real vixen, aint it?” said John.  “It can’t harm any thing.  But who is that in the car?  A small cargo.”

It was not a large one certainly.  One man doubted if any thing were there.

Nearer and nearer came the car, riding safely over that white, yeasty sea.  It was pulled across the surf, and the outermost man laid his hands on it and pushed it.  At the same time a little door in the top slid back, and a boy’s head rose higher and higher in the car, and as it stopped he was helped to get out.  He seemed to be in a heap, and his movements were stiff, for his legs were cramped by the cold.