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A storm swept the ocean just off the coast of Scotland. Far out in the black trough of the angry waters a ship had gone to pieces. The lifeboat set out from shore in the face of what seemed almost certain disaster, but it came back with all the ship's crew except one. To have taken another in would have meant the sinking of the boat. As they came to shore the leader said, "There's another man! We need volunteers for his rescue. These men are exhausted."
Among those stepping forward was a fine-looking young Scotchman in the very prime of his life. His white-haired mother came and put her arms about him and said, "Don't go, John; years ago your father perished in the storm at sea. You know that just last year your brother William went to sea and never came back, and I guess he, too, must have gone down. John, you are the only one left, and if you should perish what would I do? Don't go, John; your mother begs you to stay."
He took her arms from about his neck and said, "Mother, I must go; a man is in peril and I would feel like a coward not to go. God will take care of us." He printed a kiss on her cheek and sprang into the boat. Every minute the fury of the storm increased. The elements seemed to vie with each other to see which one could do the worst. Down into the trough and up over the waves they went. A whole hour they were gone, and finally in dim outline they were seen beating their way back.
As they came within hailing distance someone from the shore cried, "Have you found the man?" Standing in the bow of the boat John shouted back, "Yes, we've saved him, and tell my dear old mother it's brother William!" --William E. Biederwolf
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