With a shout the boys laid hold of the sides of the boat, and the next
moment it was dancing on the spent waves next to the beach. The patrao
kept its head steady, and the boys jumped in and seized the oars, and
began pulling with a will, standing up to their stroke. Slowly the
heavy craft gathered way, and approached a dark and unbroken roller that
hastened toward the beach. Then the patrao shouted to the crew, and they
lay on their oars, and the wave with a roar burst right in front of the
boat, sending the spray of its crest high above our heads.
"_Rema! rema forca!_" ("Row strongly!") now shouted the patrao, speaking
Portuguese, as mostly all African coast natives do; and the crew gave
way. The next roller we had to meet in its strength; and save for the
steady force of the patrao's oar, I believe it would have tossed us
aside and we would have been swept under its curving wall of water. As
it was, the good boat gave a mighty bound as it felt its force, and its
stem pitched high into the air as it slid down its broad back into the
deep.
Another and yet another wave were passed, and we could now see them
breaking behind us, shutting out the beach from view.
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