3: Perhaps one of my musical readers will have the great
kindness to set this little Carol to music, and let me see what it goes
like to a tune that is musical and carol-like.

[Illustration: Decorative chapter heading]

CHAPTER XIII.

ANOTHER TERRIBLE STORM--LOSS OF THE "YELLOW BOY"--A KETCH
WRECKED--I RESCUE A MAN FROM THE SEA, BADLY INJURED--HE RECOVERS.

February went out angrily, a heavy sea and a high wind being constant
companions, but if February was wild the opening days of March were
worse; it blew great guns and was cold also, and was decidedly
unpleasant.

Beside the weather being unpleasant it was also a source of anxiety to
me, for I had drawn the "Yellow Boy" upon a ledge of the Fauconnaire,
above high water-mark; but now that the sea was in such a terrible rage,
I was afraid it should dash over the ledge and dislodge her. If it did,
nothing could save her. I could go over to her at low water, but could
not draw her up higher, as the great rocks shelved out over her to the
height of forty or fifty feet, and I had no tackling strong enough to
raise her bodily to that awkward altitude; so I hoped and hoped on, but
on the 4th of March matters came to a climax.

The sun rose red and angry, the wind blew in great jerks and booms that
staggered me as I walked along the perilously narrow paths. Just before
high tide I walked along the lower path which, although fifty feet above
the sea, was soaked with salt spray from the roaring coamers breaking
below. The wind was so laden with spray that it was difficult to face it
while staggering along the rugged cliff path; but presently I arrived at
the point opposite the "Yellow Boy," and was glad to see her still
there, although she was sadly buffeted by the waves, which continually
leapt up to lick her off her granite cradle.

I had secured her with ropes as well as I could, and had even taken an
anchor (attached to her mooring rope) some fifty feet up on a grassy
ledge above, and there securely fixed it into the short turf, with which
the first plateau of rocks were covered.

[Illustration: "ALONG THE RUGGED CLIFF PATH."]

I sat down in my oilskins in the shelter of a rock to watch my precious
boat, but I could see that her doom was sealed if the wind did not drop;
but that it did not do, for as the tide rose, so did the wind, till it
fairly howled among the rocks and tore through the trees in an awful
rage, so that presently the ropes wh