WILD LIFE ACROSS THE WORLD 



It was the end of the season, and our boatload of 

 eggs the last. The cargo was hauled aboard by ropes, 

 and we started, luckily in very shallow water. By 

 that time the wind and sea had risen, and the skipper 

 was growing anxious. Darkness had come on. The 

 egg boys crowded into the little rowing-boat, and we 

 pushed off. We hadn't gone far, however, before a 

 big wave struck us and we were all pitched into the 

 sea, which was only about five feet deep at the spot. I 

 managed to hold my precious camera above the water. 

 There we were, skipper, helmsman, and a yelling lot 

 of boys in the water trying to make for the shore a 

 dozen yards away. Four boys who had been left 

 behind for the next boat — whenever it came — linked 

 hands and waded into the water to try to drag us 

 ashore ; but the skipper had no stomach for the land. 

 Climbing back into the rowing-boat, which had righted 

 itself, and seizing hold of the rope which was used for 

 hauling boatloads of eggs from the shore to the ship, 

 he helped us in again. How we got on the boat and 

 away from the island was a miracle. The helmsman 

 in the meantime had started the old paraffin engine, 

 as he was afraid of being driven ashore; but the sea 

 was thrusting the boat back as fast as she tried to make 

 headway, so that she became almost stationary. 



Wc were all soaking wet, but the skipper took 

 the discomfort very lightly. He simply drove the boat 

 between the reefs, and in course of time we were out 



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