e found herself joining;
a "Yo! heave-ho!" from the men who launched the craft. Then the
lifeboat was in the surf again, her crew laboring like the sons of
Hercules they were to keep her head to the wind and to the breakers.

The storekeeper was no weakling; rowing was an accomplishment he had
excelled in from childhood. It was the single activity in any way
connected with the sea that he had learned and maintained.

At first he kept his eyes shut--tight shut. A strange thrill went
through him, however. All these years he had shrunk from an unknown,
an unexperienced, peril. Was it that Cap'n Abe had been frightened by
a bogey, after all?

He opened his eyes, pulling rhythmically with the oar--never missing a
stroke. His gaze rested on the face of that old sea-dog, Cap'n Jim
Trainor. The fierce light of determination dwelt there. The skipper
meant to get to the wrecked schooner. He had no doubt of accomplishing
this, and Cap'n Abe caught fire of courage from the skipper's
transfigured countenance.

As for Lawford Tapp, no member of Cap'n Trainor's crew pulled a better
oar than he. With the bow ash he drove on like a young giant. Fear
did not enter into _his_ emotions.

There was nobody to notice the pallor of the storekeeper's visage.
Every man's attention was centered on his own oar, while the skipper
gazed ahead at the wave-beaten schooner grounded hard and fast upon the
reef.

There was no lull in the gale. Indeed, it seemed as though the
strength of the wind steadily rose. The lifeboat only crept from the
shore on its course to Gull Rocks. Each yard must be fought for by the
earnest crew.

Occasionally Cap'n Trainor called an encouraging sentence at them. For
the most part, however, only the ravening sea roared malice in their
ears.

Around them the hungry waves leaped and fought for their lives; but the
buoyant boat, held true to her course by the skipper, bore up nobly
under the strain. They won on, foot by foot.

The thunder of the breakers over the reef finally deafened them. The
rocking schooner, buffeted by waves that could not drive her completely
over the reef, towered finally above the heads of the men in the
lifeboat.

Cap'n Trainor's straining eyes deciphered her name painted on the bow.
He threw a hand upward in a surprised gesture, still clinging to the
steering oar with his other hand, and shrieked aloud:

"The _Curlew_! By mighty! who'd ha' thought it? 'Tis the _Curlew