The steersman stood upon the seat in the stern, in one hand
holding his oar, in the other his cap. For some time he stood half
turned round, looking attentively seaward, while the boat lay at
rest just outside the line of breakers. Suddenly he waved his cap
and gave a shout. It was answered by the crew. Every man dashed
his paddle into the water. Desperately they rowed, the steersman
encouraging them by wild yells. A gigantic wave rolled in behind
the boat, and looked for a moment as if she would break into it,
but she rose on it just as it turned over, and for an instant was
swept along amidst a cataract of white foam, with the speed of an
arrow. The next wave was a small one, and ere a third reached it the
boat grounded on the sand. A dozen men rushed out into the water.
The passengers threw themselves anyhow on to their backs, and in
a minute were standing perfectly dry upon the beach.
They learned that Captain Glover's camp was half a mile distant,
and at once set out for it. Upon the way up to the camp they passed
hundreds of negroes, who had arrived in the last day or two, and
had just received their arms. Some were squatted on the ground
cooking and resting themselves.
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