ssue from the Admiral's
smack, the _Cherub_. At the same time the boat of the _Lively Poll_ was
launched into the sea, Duffy and Freeman and another hand tumbled into
her, and the skipper had to give his undivided attention to the
all-important matter of transhipping the fish.

Dozens of boats were by that time bobbing like corks on the heaving sea,
all making for the attendant steamer. Other dozens, which had already
reached her, were clinging on--the men heaving the fish-boxes aboard,--
while yet others were pushing off from the smacks last arrived to join
the busy swarm.

Among these was the boat of the _Fairy_, with Dick Martin and two men
aboard. It was heavily laden--too heavily for such a sea--for their
haul on the previous night had been very successful.

North Sea fishermen are so used to danger that they are apt to despise
it. Both Bryce and Martin knew they had too many trunks in the boat,
but they thought it a pity to leave five or six behind, and be obliged
to make two trips for so small a number, where one might do. Besides,
they could be careful. And so they were--very careful; yet despite all
their care they shipped a good deal of water, and the skipper stood on
the deck of the _Fairy_ watching them with some anxiety. Well he might,
for so high were the waves that not only his own boat but all the others
kept disappearing and re-appearing continually, as they rose on the
crests or sank into the hollows.

But Skipper Bryce had eyes for only one boat. He saw it rise to view
and disappear steadily, regularly, until it was about half-way to the
steamer; then suddenly it failed to rise, and next moment three heads
were seen amid the tumultuous waters where the boat should have been.

With a tremendous shout Bryce sprang to the tiller and altered the
vessel's course, but, as the wind blew, he knew well it was not in his
power to render timely aid. That peculiar cry which tells so
unmistakably of deadly disaster was raised from the boats nearest to
that which had sunk, and they were rowed towards the drowning men, but
the boats were heavy and slow of motion. Already they were too late,
for two out of the three men had sunk to rise no more--dragged down by
their heavy boots and winter clothing. Only one continued the struggle.
It was Dick Martin. He had grasped an oar, and, being able to swim,
kept his head up. The intense cold of the sea, however, would soon have
relaxed even his iron grip, an