that he must take in the mainsail. With some difficulty he
persuaded Marcia to hold the tiller while he let go the halliards. The
mainsail came down with a run, and the boat kept on with the jib only,
though of course at a slower rate. They were still two or three miles
from shore, and the storm increased momently. They saw Lynn Beach
without hope of gaining it, the wind driving them northward. Neither
could Greenleaf run into the little bay of Swampscot. In spite of his
efforts the boat shot by Phillips's Point, and he must therefore run
upon the rocks beyond the Point or make for Marblehead harbor. But the
latter was an untried and dangerous course for an inexperienced boatman,
and, grim as the coast looked, he was obliged to trust to its tender
mercies for the chance of getting ashore. The rain now fell in blinding
torrents and a blackness as of night brooded over the sea. Greenleaf
was utterly bewildered, but held on to the tiller with his aching,
stiffening hand, and strove to inspire his companion with courage. The
boat was "down by the head," on account of the wind's drawing the jib,
and rolled and plunged furiously. Behind were threatening billows, and
before were ragged, precipitous rocks, around which the surges boiled
and eddied. Greenleaf quailed as he neared the awful coast; his heart
stood still as he thought of the peril to a helpless woman in clambering
up those cliffs, even if she were not drowned before reaching them.
Every flash of lightning seemed to disclose some new horror. If life is
measured by sensations, he lived years of torture in the few minutes
during which he waited for the shock of the bows against the granite
wall. Marcia, fortunately, had become insensible, though her sobbing,
panting breath showed the extremity of terror that had pursued her as
long as consciousness remained. Nearer and nearer they come; an oar's
length, a step; they touch now! No, a wave careens the boat, and she
lightly grazes by. Now opens a cleft, perhaps wide enough for her to
enter. With helm hard down the bow sweeps round, and they float into a
narrow basin with high, perpendicular walls, opening only towards the
sea. When within this little harbor, the boat lodged on a shelving rock
and heeled over as the wave retreated. Greenleaf and his companion, who
had now recovered from her swoon, kept their places as though hanging at
the eaves of a house. They were safe from the fury of the storm without,
but there was no