lear over Dan's head. Ten feet--the line was fraying out at the ring
bolts. Just a second now--five feet. With one bound the lumber swept
down, and past the stern of the boat, and Captain Ephraim fell to his
knees and thanked his God.

The fight off Jones Island Inlet came at a time when it meant much to
Dan. It was the deep sea, and he had measured his might with it. And
as a man is dignified by the prowess of his opponent, so was Dan
dignified by the prowess of the sea. Perhaps that was why the sea had
always called Dan--faintly, dimly; far away sometimes, but always
unmistakably. It came in every wind that blew; a voice that involved
not the sea alone, but the things it stood for--a broader, deeper life
and bigger things; more to do, a final and definite place to make. He
had never met or been influenced by the big men--the men who think and
teach and sing and do the world's work. His environment in these, his
early years of manhood, had been far from them. He could touch them
only in books, which were not entirely satisfactory. And so he learned
from the sea and it spoke to him of breadth, and power, and
determination, and majesty of character. Dan was instinctively seeking
all these things, and in the work he was now doing he felt that he was
nearer to them than he had ever been before.

CHAPTER V

THE LOSS OF THE "FLEDGLING"

One Fall afternoon, six months after the rescue of the men of the
_Zeitgeist_, the _Fledgling_, as though sentient with the instinct of
self-preservation, was struggling through the riot of wind and waves,
seeking the security of the Delaware Breakwater, while ten miles back,
somewhere in the wild half gloom off Hog Island, three loaded coal
barges which she had been towing from Norfolk were rolling, twisting,
careening helplessly to destruction--if, indeed, the seas had not
already taken deadly toll of them.

Dan and two of his men were at the wheel spokes, which had torn the
palms of their hands until they were raw and bleeding, and the dull
light flooding in through the windows revealed the indomitable will of
these men, the death-fight spirit which actuated them.

Dan's face was bloodless and strained, and his hair fell across his
eyes, while crouching beneath him, with hands on the under spokes, were
the gigantic shoulders of his mate, the sweaty gray hair and the red,
thick nape of the neck suggesting the very epitome of muscular effort;
and on the other side,