Giving one agonised cry, the grandfather leaped after her, but the
surging boat swept in at the moment, and the old man fortunately fell
into that instead of the sea. He was not hurt, for strong arms had been
upraised to receive him. The little child rose above the foam as she
was whirled past the stern of the boat by a swift current. Bob Massey
saw her little out-stretched arms. There was no time for thought or
consideration. With one bound the coxswain was overboard. Next moment
the crew saw him far astern with the child in his arms.

"Get 'em all aboard _first_!" came back, even against the wind, in Bob's
powerful, deep-toned voice.

Another moment, and he was lost to sight in the boiling waste of waters.
Slag knew well what he meant. If they should cast off the rope before
rescuing all, for the purpose of picking up the coxswain, there would be
no possibility of getting back again to the schooner, for she was fast
breaking up. Every current and eddy about these sands was well known to
Joe Slag, also the set of the tides--besides, had not Bob got on his
lifebelt? He felt, nevertheless, that it was a tremendous risk to let
him go. But what could poor Slag do? To cast off at once would have
been to sacrifice about a dozen lives for the sake of saving two. It
was a fearful trial. Joe loved Bob as a brother. His heart well nigh
burst, but it stood the trial. He did his duty, and held on to the
wreck!

Duty, on that occasion, however, was done with a promptitude, and in a
fashion, that was not usual in one of his sedate nature. Fortunately,
none but men remained on the wreck by that time.

"Tumble 'em in--sharp!" cried Slag.

The lifeboat men obeyed literally, and tumbled them in with a celerity
that might almost have awakened surprise in a sack of potatoes!

To haul up the anchor would have been slow work. Slag--economical by
nature--became extravagant for once. An axe made short work of cable
and anchor.

"Let 'em go!" he growled, as the boat drifted away.

The sail was set with miraculous speed, for now the wind was in their
favour, and the gay lifeboat bounded off in the direction where Bob had
disappeared, as though it felt a lively interest in the recovery of its
coxswain. It seemed as if the very elements sympathised with their
anxiety, for just then the gale sensibly abated, and the rising sun
broke through a rift in the grey clouds.

"There he is--I see him!" shouted the man in the bo