ld. His thoughts were on other
things,--on the rescuing yawl speeding toward the spar buoy, on the
stout hands and knowing ones who were pulling for all they were worth
to that anchor of safety;--on two of his own men who, seeing Baxter's
cowardly desertion, had sprung like cats at the bowsprit of the sloop
in one of her dives, and were then on the stern ready to pay out a line
to the yawl when she reached the goal. No,--he'd hold on "till hell
froze over."

A hawser now ripped itself clear from out the crest of a roller. This
meant that the two cats, despite the increasing gale and thrash of the
onrushing sea had succeeded in paying out a stern line to the men in
the yawl, who had slipped it through the snatch block fastened in the
buoy. It meant, too, that this line had been connected with the line
they had brought with them from the island, its far end being around
the drum of our hoister.

A shrill cry now came from one of the crew in the yawl alongside the
spar buoy, followed instantly by the clear, ringing order, "GO AHEAD!"

Now a burst of feathery steam plumed skyward, and then the slow
"chuggity-chug" of our drum cogs rose in the air. The stern line
straightened until it was as rigid as a bar of iron, sagged for an
instant under the slump of the staggering sloop, straightened again,
and remained rigid. The sloop, held by the stern line, crept slowly
back to safety.

Captain Joe looked over his shoulder, noted the widening distance, and
leaped back to the inshore rocks.

Late that afternoon, when the tug, with Captain Joe and me on board,
reached the tug's moorings in New London harbor, the dock was crowded
with anxious faces,--Abram Marrows and his wife among them. It had been
an anxious day along the shore road. The squall, which had blown for
half an hour and had then slunk away toward Little Gull, grumbling as
it went, had sent everything that could seek shelter bowling into New
London Harbor under close reefs. It had also started Marrows and his
wife on a run to the dock, where they had stood for hours straining
their eyes seaward, each incoming vessel, as she swooped past the dock
into the inner basin, adding to their anxiety.

"Wouldn't give a keg o' sp'ilt fish for her. Ain't a livin' chance o'
savin' her," had bellowed the captain of a fishing smack, as he swept
by, within biscuit-toss of the dock, his boom submerged, the water
curling over the rail.

"She went slap ag'in them chunks o' cut sto