Bill Glass, lantern in hand, plunged into the darkness and the storm, Jack following at his heels. Their way led them away from the winding river and under the radiance of the lantern Jack saw that they were treading a well-defined path through the marsh-grass. It was as much as he could do to keep up with his guide, whose shuffling gait, while it might look slow, covered ground with remarkable rapidity. And while Jack was forced to stagger under the force of the gale, Bill Glass, his head erect, never faltered. Five minutes of tramping brought them to the railroad trestle which was here raised some eight feet above the marsh, and even as they reached it the rails began to hum and afar to the northward a white light came into view.

“There she be,” said Bill. “Best give me a boost, mate; I be n’t as spry as I was.” Jack aided and Bill scrambled to the trestle. Then the lantern was handed up and Jack followed. If it had been hard to keep one’s footing below it was infinitely harder here and Jack was disconcerted to find that Bill meant to walk along the track. How he managed to step safely from one timber to another with that gale lashing and buffeting him Jack couldn’t understand, for it was all the boy could do to keep his feet. But fortunately a dozen yards brought them to a place where the cross timbers had been carried several feet out at the side of the trestle to accommodate a barrel of water for use in case of fire. Here there was room to stand out of the way of the train, and, better still, something to hold on to. Bill set the lantern on the track and waited.

“She be heavy tonight,” he muttered, “or maybe the wind be rocking them cars.”

The humming of the rails was not audible up there but the white light grew and grew and soon Bill was out on the track waving his lantern. And then, above the roaring of the wind, sounded the shrill, imperative blasts of the locomotive whistle, followed more faintly by the jangle and bumping of the freight cars as the brakes were set, and the long train came to a stop some distance down the track. Bill Glass seized his lantern and started off toward it and Jack, his knees quaking, followed as best he could. But when he too reached the engine the engineer was already making ready to go on and he had to seek another barrel platform with Bill Glass and wait while car after car went clattering, jarring by. When the rear light had passed Bill piloted the way back. By this time Jack had become fairly adept at walking a trestle in a fifty mile gale, although he was heartily glad when Bill stopped and climbed down to the ground again. Once more on the path it was possible to talk and be heard, and Jack asked anxiously;

“Will they tell the life savers?”

“Jim said he’d stop at the section house a mile below here and telephone to town. Jim’s got two sons at sea himself and he won’t forget, mate.”

There was no more said until they reached the cabin again, which was no slight task, since the wind was more in their faces going back. But finally the welcome gleam of the light met them and they staggered into the shelter of the building and pushed open the door. Hal was fast asleep in a chair and Bee, the yellow cat in his lap, was only half awake.

“I thought you’d walked into the river or lost your way,” he said with relief. “Old Hal’s asleep, isn’t he? Wake up, Hal!”

Bill Glass said it might be two hours before life savers would reach the wreck and set about making some coffee. He soon had the fire started and the kettle filled with water. The boys could not but admire the deft way in which he accomplished things, even Hal acknowledging grudgingly afterwards that “the old pirate was no fool.” As Bill busied himself about the stove Jack told how they had been awakened by the sound of the cannon and how they had gone out to locate the wreck, afterwards speeding up the river in the launch until a sudden gust had rammed her bow into the bank.

“We’ll have a sip o’ coffee,” said Bill, “an’ then we’ll take the dory an’ go back there to your boat. Likely we can pull her off.”

When the coffee was ready they each drank a cupful of it and, although their host offered them no milk for it, it warmed and invigorated them. Afterwards they got into the dory under the little wharf and, Bill at the oars, and two lanterns to light them, went slowly down the narrow stream. They reached the launch in almost no time at all and Bill again took command of the situation. Hal was directed to start the engine and keep her at neutral. Then the stern was pushed off and the propeller was started slowly at reverse. Bill clambered to the bank, braced himself and pushed, while Bee and Jack shoved on the oars, and in a moment the Corsair was free again. Bill hitched his dory astern and, since there was not room there to turn the launch about in, directed Jack to go on up the stream for a ways. How in that blackness, Bill Glass could tell one place from another, was a mystery, but in a minute he ordered the engine stopped and, taking an oar, soon had the launch headed down stream. Then they set off for the island once more. Bill spoke only once on the journey. Then making a trumpet of his hands, he shouted across to Hal at the engine;

“That be likely one o’ your father’s boats out there. Ain’t no others I knows of carries signal guns.”

The wind was almost dead ahead for most of the way and the Corsair tossed and careened like a sloop in a squall. Long before they found the wharf they began to encounter waves, and they were all pretty well sprinkled by the time the landing was made. All the way back they had watched for rockets beyond the island but had seen none. Jack said they had probably used them all up. Bee suggested that perhaps help had already reached them. But when, after making fast the launch, they battled around the beach in the teeth of the gale a dim light showed in the locality of The Tombstones and Bill Glass, peering under his hands through the darkness, announced that the schooner was still there.

There was nothing they could do but watch and wait, and after Bill had signalled for some minutes with his lantern and received finally an answering wave from the schooner they crept back to the tent for shelter. At intervals Bill went to the flap and viewed the sea in the direction of Toller’s Rock. There wasn’t much conversation. There was little to say and the noise of the waves and wind made talking difficult. The tent still threatened to go at every blast and still held. An hour passed and the hands of Bee’s watch pointed to ten minutes past two when there came an exclamation of satisfaction from Bill Glass, who had gone to the tent door for perhaps the twentieth time.

“There she be!” he called. “Roundin’ the Rock this minute. I see her light.”

The boys clustered behind him and looked. Afar out was a tiny flicker that came and went as the waves tossed the boat up and down. Then suddenly a strong beam of white light shot across the water, moved right and left and disappeared again.

“They be a-lookin’,” said Bill. “That be her search-light.”

From the front of the tent they watched the tiny speck of light draw nearer and nearer until, at length, it was abreast of the island. Then it disappeared suddenly and there was a gasp from Bee.

“She’s sunk!” he cried.

“Not she,” answered Bill Glass. “She be all water-tight compartments. Upset she can, mate, but never sink. That light be in the bow an’ she’s passed us. There be her search-light again.”

There came a chorus of cries from the boys as suddenly, out of the blackness, the wrecked schooner appeared bathed in light. For a moment only the search-light played upon her and then darkness shut down again.

“Square between the ledges she be,” exclaimed Bill. “Mainmast broke short off and fore-top-mast hangin’. Crew’s in the riggin’ and the sea’s breakin’ over her deck hard, mates. But her hull be all right yet, I cal’ate.” They hurried around the hill again, fighting the gale, until they were opposite the scene.

“I saw three or four men clinging to ropes,” said Bee to Jack in an awed voice. “Will they get them off, Jack?”

“Surely,” Jack answered. “I wonder if the life-boat can get alongside of her.”

“Aye, that she will,” replied Bill Glass. “Come around lee side o’ her, likely. She be one o’ Folsom’s boats, I cal’ate. A mighty long overhang for’ard, she has, an’ she might be the Jupiter.”

For what seemed many minutes there was no sign of the life-boat’s lights. Then the bow lantern glinted again near shore and was gone.

“Crawlin’ around to looard, she be,” said Bill Glass admiringly. “Eh, I’d like mighty well, mates, to be havin’ a hand down there myself!”

The search-light flooded the scene again, but this time its radiance disclosed only a part of the dark hull and the deck-house and a smother of water that seemed rushing in all directions. The disk of light again disappeared, and in its place shone, startlingly brighter and nearer at hand, the bow light of the rescuer. After that the watchers on land could only surmise what was taking place down there in that cauldron of seething waves and frantic winds, for the search-light did not show again. It was Bill Glass who pictured the scene for them, shouting to them as they clustered close about him.

“She be alongside now, mates, under the quarter likely. All hands leave ship! Aye, aye, twice I’ve heard that word, mates; once off Sable Island an’ once ’most in sight o’ port. They be climbin’ down in the life-boat now, I cal’ate, an’ the skipper’s got his log-book an’ his gold watch an’ maybe a trinket or two. All hands to the life-boat! Eh, they won’t need much tellin’! Thankful to go, they be, I cal’ate.”

A light moved, swaying along the deck, and then went down out of sight.

“That’ll be the last, I cal’ate,” said Bill. “Skipper, likely. Now she be castin’ off. Can you see her light, mates?”

They couldn’t for a moment, but presently it appeared and moved, rising and falling, and once they thought they heard the beat of the engine as the life-boat fought her way off the shore and headed seaward.

“Aye, a good job, shipmates!” shouted Bill Glass as the bow light was lost to them. “God bless ye for brave boys!” He turned and led the way back toward the tent. Eastward there was a lightening of the horizon that told of the coming day. Back in the tent Bill blew out his lantern.

“If I be n’t in the way, mates,” he said, “I’ll just stop here for a bit. It’ll soon be mornin’ an’ I be anxious to see what kind o’ a fix that boat be in.”

“Make yourself at home,” said Jack heartily. “Take this blanket and put it around you. Want to lie down here and have a nap?”

“No, no, I’ll just sit her an’ smoke a pipe, thank ye. But you best be havin’ a sleep.”

“I don’t know about sleeping,” said Bee tiredly, “but I guess I’ll lie down awhile. Will you wake me, if I should go to sleep, Jack?”

Jack promised, being certain that he would not sleep himself. But ten minutes later each of the three boys was slumbering, and Bill Glass, the acrid smoke from his pipe trailing out of the tent, sat open-eyed awaiting the dawn.