Thirty years later Craig Holmes vividly remembers shouting those words down at the heaving deck alongside his ship and seeing hundreds of anxious faces staring back up at him.
The Vietnamese woman on the deck of the wooden boat moved across to the red Adidas sports bag which she had just tied to the end of the rope and pulled it aside.
"I could see two little faces," recalled Craig, sitting at the table of his Dunedin home.
His no-bags edict was quickly forgotten. As he slowly and cautiously pulled the little bundle of humanity up, his major concern was that the knot would hold.
Once he had the infants on board and safe from danger, Craig retied the knot just to make doubly sure it would not come away and sent the bag back over the side.
For the next hour or so the red sports bag was Craig's sole focus. He constantly checked the knot and the handles to make sure they were holding as he continued to bring children up on to the deck.
"I'm not sure exactly how many came up in that bag," he said, "but it could have been as many as 20."
Only a few hours earlier, on the evening of October 1, 1978, Craig had been sitting in his cabin on the bulk carrier MV Wellpark with a fellow cadet chatting about a correspondence course they both had to do.
Suddenly the ship's alarm bells sounded and Craig and the other cadets raced to their emergency stations on deck.
"At first we didn't have any idea what was going on," he said, "but then we heard that the second mate had spotted a distress flare."
The Wellpark tried to pick up the boat on radar, but as it was a small wooden vessel, that proved difficult.
It was a pitch-black night, with no moon and heavy cloud cover. The sea was rough with big swells whipped up by Cyclone Lola, which had just passed through the area.
"When I finally spotted the boat between the swells I thought she was on fire," Craig said.
Later he discovered that those on board had lit a tar fire in a drum to act as a distress signal.
Initially the crew thought they had encountered a fishing boat in distress and the captain, Hector Connell, decided to investigate by sending out one of the ship's motorised lifeboats.
"It was manned by six cadets plus the second mate," said Craig.
"I was one of those designated to stay on board to help organise the reception for anyone who might have to be taken off the boat."
At this stage the crew thought they might have to rescue just a handful of people off a fishing boat.
They had no idea that the 20m-long wooden vessel wallowing in heavy seas was without power and was crammed with almost 350 men, women and children.
They were also unaware that the boat was leaking and was slowly sinking. For the lifeboat crew, it was the start of a long, dangerous and uncomfortable mercy mission.
"A big issue was sea-sickness," said Craig.
For almost eight hours, the small lifeboat rode the huge swells.
It made two return journeys to the Wellpark with refugees and then, when the vessel was finally secured alongside the ship, stood by while the remaining refugees were taken on board in case the mooring lines came away.
"The first we knew the boat was carrying refugees was when the lifeboat radioed back and said there were literally hundreds of Vietnamese men, women and children on the vessel," said Craig.
This initial contact with the refugee craft was fraught with danger. As the lifeboat manoeuvred in close, they had to hold off slightly to prevent being thrown against the larger craft by the waves.
One of the junior cadets on board the lifeboat, Mike Newton, said that although the crew reached out, the desperate people initially resisted jumping into the lifeboat, fearful that their rescuers could not be trusted.
"There were shouts and cries in the confusion, but among it someone demanded of the lifeboat crew what nation they were from," he wrote in a letter to his mother.
"When the reply was given that they were British (Scottish at that), the word rapidly spread and without hesitation the first man jumped across the dark waters to the lifeboat.
"Quickly, in two more passes, about 15 men leapt from all angles for the boat, many landing heavily on the hard thwarts of the lifeboat as it bucked on the waves.
"Now the boat in distress was heeling over with the shift of humanity wanting to escape the deathtrap their boat had become."
Mike told his mother they tried to reassure those still on board the boat that they would return, and then headed back to the Wellpark.
On the return journey one of the men told the crew that there were more than 300 people on board and that they had escaped from South Vietnam. By now the remaining cadets on the Wellpark were organised into rescue teams on the deck.
They lowered cargo nets and a pilot ladder down the side of the ship, but not one of the refugees was able to haul themselves up the nets.
"They were just too tired," said Craig.
"But some could get up the ladder."
On a number of occasions, Craig lowered himself down the ladder to physically help people climb the four or five metres to the deck of the Wellpark.
The cadets also formed loops on the end of heaving lines and threw them over the side and instructed the refugees to tie the loops around themselves.
Two or three cadets manned each rope and slowly hauled the exhausted refugees on board. As the lifeboat headed back into the darkness, another drama was threatening. A Russian ship had moved in perilously close.
To the crew of the Wellpark, it seemed as though the ship was trying to interfere in the rescue operation by putting her bow between the Wellpark and the refugee boat.
There was real concern that the Russians might try to muscle their way in, grab the refugees and take them back to Vietnam.
Craig Holmes said it was obvious the refugees did not want to be rescued by the Russians.
"Captain Connell, as commander on scene, told them to stand clear. He said he would call them in if needed, but that didn't happen."
When the lifeboat returned to the stricken craft the second time, about 20 men, women and children leapt into the boat.
According to Mike Newton, some clasped the hands of its crew thanking them for what they were doing, kissing their hands in gratitude.
Craig said that once they got the first refugees on board the Wellpark there was no time to really comprehend what was happening.
"We were just thinking about what we would need to do to get that many people on board and looked after," he said.
"The dominating thought was getting the job done."
At the time Craig did not fully appreciate the skill and seamanship of Capt Connell. It was only later, when he became a master himself, that he truly understood what Capt Connell achieved in those dark and dangerous seas off the Vietnamese coast.
"Because the refugee boat was disabled and incapable of moving, Capt Connell decided he would have to move the Wellpark closer," said Craig.
With some limited assistance form the lifeboat, Capt Connell managed to get the Wellpark alongside the stricken vessel and to use the ship's own mooring lines to make the vessel fast.
"I would rate it as one of the finest examples of seamanship I have ever seen," said Craig.
"I did not realise how well he had done until I looked back from a professional point of view. His skills at the time were fantastic, especially in managing not to damage the refugee boat."
Craig still remembers the amazing sight of the vessel suddenly appearing out of the darkness into the glare of the Wellpark's floodlights.
"I thought, look at that. There were faces everywhere, in every hatch and every porthole."
Craig said many of the women and children were screaming as the two vessels got closer together, but then they calmed down.
Once the last of the 346 refugees was on board, the priority was to ensure they were safe and secure and away from the heavy seas that were breaking over the bow.
The cadets had a special recreational area on top of the No 5 hatch, which turned out to be a ready-made safe haven for the refugees.
A small number were also accommodated below deck and Craig bunked in with another cadet and gave his cabin to two families to share.
The other major task was to make sure everyone was fed and properly clothed. "The ship's catering staff were fantastic," said Craig.
"From the very start of the rescue operation, they opened up stores and started work on feeding and looking after everyone."
As the Wellpark headed to Taiwan, the crew began to piece together the refugees' story.
Most had limited English, but Craig spoke at length with a young woman, Luisa Van Nu, a member of one of the families who were now sharing his cabin.
Luisa told Craig that most of the refugees were middle-class people, whose lives had changed dramatically under communist rule.
"When the communists took over they began to force people into different roles," said Craig. "For instance, I was told there was a doctor on board who was made to sweep streets."
The refugees told Craig of an organised and corrupt system, whereby refugees paid large sums of money, usually in gold, to officials to facilitate their escape.
Those hoping to flee would then pray that the corrupt officials would turn a blind eye as they set out under cover of darkness, more often than not in crowded and unseaworthy boats.
"They told us they had sailed out of the Mekong River into the delta and the estuary," said Craig.
"But then the boat broke down and the rudder became stuck. They then drifted out into the South China Sea and when we came across them, they had been at sea for about four days."
During the next three to four days on their way to Taiwan, the crew formed close relationships with the refugees and in a short time, as Craig says, "we became aware of the quality of the people we had on board".
"Doctors, pharmacists, midwives, nurses and secretaries came out of the woodwork. They were quickly self-organising and looking after one another."
Craig believes the refugees were extraordinarily lucky that it was the Wellpark, and not another merchant vessel, that came to their rescue.
"We had 24 fit young cadets, well-trained and highly motivated," he said.
"They did all the hard work in getting the refugees on board. We also had a lot more room on deck than most vessels to accommodate such a large number of people."
When the Wellpark docked in Taiwan, the ordeal for the refugees was not over.
Diplomatic and political wrangling meant they were forced to stay aboard the ship for a further two weeks while their fate was settled.
Finally the British Government decided it would allow all of them to enter the United Kingdom and they were flown to London.
Craig, meanwhile, had got into a spot of bother himself. Once the refugees had departed and the Wellpark had discharged its cargo, the ship sailed for Ulsan, in Korea.
The cadets went ashore to relax and decided to play a friendly game of football on a football pitch alongside the dock.
"I fell awkwardly and broke my ankle and ended up in hospital," said Craig.
But he was not done with the refugees yet. On his return to London a short time later, he called into Kensington Barracks where the refugees were being accommodated and processed.
He caught up again with Luisa and they exchanged gifts. He gave her a medallion consisting of a nautical wheel and a crucifix that he had bought in Peru.
Luisa gave Craig her high school graduation ring.
"I remember thinking, that is it," said Craig.
"They now have to get on with their lives and I am off to do something else."
Craig rarely thought about the rescue, or the people he had helped save, in the intervening years. He continued in the merchant navy and became a master of coastal ships around the United Kingdom.
He even became a London bobby for five years, but the lure of the sea proved too strong and he eventually returned to his first love and completed his foreign-going master's certificate.
In 1987 he became a marine pilot in southeast Wales and in 2003 moved to Dunedin with his family and began working as a pilot for Port Otago.
It was not until a couple of months ago that he was again face to face with the dramatic events of October 1978.
"We had a computer glitch at Port Otago and I lost the wallpaper image I was using on my screen," he said.
He decided to search on the Internet for Wellpark, thinking he would find an image of his old ship to use as his new computer wallpaper.
To his surprise, he stumbled on a site promoting a reunion to mark the 30th anniversary of the rescue, set down for the end of August, in Los Angeles.
As he went through the photos on the website he saw faces and some names he remembered.
"But it wasn't really the faces I was thinking about," he said.
"It is amazing how the mind works. I remembered them more from the piece of clothing we had given them. So rather than a face, it was memory of a T-shirt or a jumper."
Many of the refugees had stayed in the United Kingdom, but others had moved abroad to Canada and the United States.
"About 10 families were now living in Los Angeles and had started meeting on a regular basis. With the 30th anniversary coming up, they decided to have a reunion," said Craig.
Initially he did not give much thought to attending but then he found out that the only people attending, apart from the refugees and their families, were Hector Connell and Pat Griffin, the widow of second mate Andrew Griffin.
"My wife Liz urged me to go and said if I didn't, I would regret it," he said.
Craig was also keen to attend to support Hector Connell and Pat Griffin.
In Los Angeles, Craig was overwhelmed with the generosity and friendship of the refugees and their families.
"I remember taking $80 out of an ATM when I arrived," he said, "but they wouldn't let me pay for anything. I came home with $75 in my pocket."
Although he considers himself "emotionally tough", Craig said there were occasions when his emotions got the better of him.
He recalls looking at three boys aged about 6 or 7 and thinking "they would not be here if the Wellpark had not turned up on that night".
Perhaps the most emotional moment was when he caught up with Luisa Van Nu, the young woman he had exchanged gifts with all those years ago at Kensington Barracks.
"The ring she gave me had stayed with my family all this time," said Craig.
"It was too small to put on my finger, but my father had worn it around his neck."
At the reunion, Craig gave Luisa back the graduation ring she had been wearing when she fled South Vietnam in 1978.
"There was a tear in her eye," said Craig.
Just for a moment, 30 years slipped away and an "emotionally tough" sailor of 49 years was again a young, 19-year-old cadet who had taken part in one of the most remarkable maritime rescues in modern history.
Beside him, the mother of two grown-up children was again an exhausted and grateful young Vietnamese refugee.
Quentin Fogarty is a Dunedin-based journalist.
- By Quentin Fogarty
