"A Man overboard!"

This was the startling cry that rang out from the multitude swarming forward on the ferry-boat D. S. Gregory, one wintry night, as she was approaching the dock at the foot of Courtlandt Street, on her trip from Jersey City.

For a few seconds confusion and excitement reigned supreme.

The boat was crowded with passengers, many of whom had passed out of the forward cabin doors, and were pushing toward the bow, eager to be the first to leap ashore, scarcely willing to wait till the lattice-like gates were drawn aside to allow them to pass.

Some were smoking, many were talking, and no one was dreaming of anything wrong, when the alarming cry resounded through the frosty air.

The captain heard it on the instant, as did the engineer; for the latter checked the swinging of the ponderous working-beam at the same second that he received the signal from the captain--a thing which never happens unless in some such emergency.

As the throbbing of the engine ceased and the boat glided smoothly along, there was such a general rush toward the bow that a dangerous dipping of the craft followed--a peril which no one beside the officials on the vessel observed.

"Who is he?"

"Did he jump over?"

"Did he fall?"

"Was he pushed?"

"Can he be saved?"

"Where is he?"

These and similar questions were on a hundred lips; and before any intelligible answer could be given, a woman gave utterance to the most heart-rending scream, and made such frantic attempts to spring into the water, that the intervention of several strong men was required to prevent her.

"It must be her husband."

But the expression was yet in the mouth of the speaker, when, falling limp and despairing into the sturdy arms of the unknown friends, she wailed,--

"Will no one save my child? Let me go to her; she is all that is left to me--oh, let me die with her!"

"It's a little girl that fell overboard," called out some one who had seen the accident. "There she is--hello!"

The last exclamation was caused by a second splash, as a dark body clave the air and dropped into the water within a few yards of where the dress of the little girl could be faintly discerned.

"Heavens, that is only a little boy!" called out an excited individual. "Are all the children to be drowned before our eyes?"

The general belief was that this lad, through some strange mischance, had also fallen into the river, a belief which was quickly dispelled by another boy, no doubt his playmate, calling out,--

"That's my chum, Tom, and you needn't be afraid of him; he can outswim a duck and a goose and a fish all together; he jumped over to save that little girl, seeing as all you big men was afraid--and you can just bet he'll do it too."

There was a tone of absolute certainty in these remarkable words which lifted a mountain from more than one heart, and instantly transferred all interest to the brave young lad who had sprung into the water to save a little girl that was a stranger to him.

A cold wintry night was closing in when this accident took place, and the lights from the shipping and the great city twinkled like myriads of stars.

Great black hulls lay still and motionless in the water, as if they were enormous ogres of the deep waiting for human prey to come into their vast maws; steam-tugs were puffing and darting here and there, in and out among the shipping, as though they were playing hide-and-seek with each other; another ferry-boat was just putting out from the dock on the New York side, the paddle-wheels crunching and grinding the chunks of ice, as if mastica............