o throw a
word of praise to Bill Brennen. He felt that the unqualified success of
his unexpected attack upon the mob had rewon for him much of his mastery
of the harbor. The others agreed with him. Bill Brennen, with a mug full
of punch in his hand, and his eyes on the broken oar which had stood in
a corner, humbly advised him to bestir himself at an early hour in the
morning, and put the finishing touches on the lesson. He advised a
house-to-house visitation before the heroes had recovered from the
brandy and the birch billet--not to mention the oar.

"Bat 'em agin whilst their heads bes still sore," said Bill--which is
only another and more original way of saying, "Strike while the iron is
hot."

"When ye give 'em all the money, skipper, they sure t'ought ye was
bewitched," said Nick Leary. "They t'ought ye was under a spell--an'
next they was t'inkin' as how the gold sure had a curse on to it or ye
wouldn't give it to 'em."

The skipper nodded. "I was too easy wid 'em!" he said. "Sure, b'ys, I'll
be mendin' it."

Bill and Nick departed at last; Cormick ascending the ladder to his bed
in the loft; Mother Nolan brewed a dose of herbs of great virtue--she
was wise in such things--and still the skipper sat by the stove and
smoked his pipe. Never before had his life known another such day as
this. Now he could have sworn that a whole month had passed since he had
been awakened by news of the wreck under the cliff, and again it seemed
as swift and dazzling as the flash of the powder in the pan of his old
sealing-gun when the spark flies from the flint. It had certainly been
an astonishing day! He had saved a life. He had seen those wonderful,
pale lids blink open and the soul sweep back into those wonderful eyes.
He had been elbow to elbow with violent death. He had struggled
submerged in water tinged with blood. He had known exultation, anger
and something which a less courageous man would have accepted for
defeat. He had suffered a mutiny--and later, in a few violent, reckless
minutes of action he had broken it--or cowed it at least. Now he felt
himself master of the harbor again, but not the master of his own
destiny. He did not sum up his case in these terms; but this is what it
came to. Destiny was a conviction with him, and not a word at all--a
nameless conviction. He did not consider the future anew; but he felt,
without analyzing it, a breathless, new curiosity of what the morrow
might hold for him. This sensa