the hills and the roaring
wind would drive the solid green water atop of us. Wind, sea, and
milk-white foam between them--they seemed all of a mind to smother us.
These things I saw in jumps-like. Lashed to the wind'ard buoy I was by a
length of roding line, to my knees in water the better part of the time,
and busy enough with the bailing. There was no steady looking to
wind'ard, such was the weight of the bullets of water which the wild
wind drove off the sea crests; but a flying glance now and again kept me
in the run of it.

I would have wished to be able to do my share of the steering, but only
Hugh Glynn could properly steer that dory that day. The dory would have
sunk a hundred times only for the buoys in the waist; but she would have
capsized more times than that again only for the hand of him in the
stern. Steady he sat, a man of marble, his jaw like a cliff rising above
the collar of his woollen shirt, his two eyes like two lights glowing
out from under his cap brim.

And yet for all of him I couldn't see how we could live through it. Once
we were so terribly beset that, "We'll be lost carrying sail like this,
Hugh Glynn!" I called back to him.

And he answered: "I never could see any difference myself, Simon,
between being lost carrying sail and being lost hove to."

After that I said no more.

And so, to what must have been the wonder of wind and sea that day, Hugh
Glynn drove the little dory into the night and the lee of Sable Island.

V

We took in our sail and let go our anchor. Hugh Glynn looked long above
and about him. "A clear night coming, Simon; and cold, with the wind
backing into the no'west. We'll lay here, for big vessels will be
running for this same lee to-night, and maybe a chance for us to be
picked up with the daylight. Did I do well this day by you, Simon?"

"I'd be a lost man hours back but for you," I said, and was for saying
more in praise of him, but he held up his hand.

"So you don't hold me a reckless, desperate sail carrier, Simon, never
mind the rest." His eyes were shining. "But your voice is weary, Simon,
and you're hungry, too, I know."

I was hungry and worn--terribly worn--after the day, and so told him.

"Then lie down and 'twill rest you, and for a time make you forget the
hunger. And while you're lying down, Simon, I'll stand watch."

And I made ready to lie down, when I thought of his sweater I was
wearing. I unbuttoned my oil jacket to get at it. "