He kneeled and held his hands out through the opening, directing them with his voice, reaching into the pitchy darkness until her hands found his, and then he brought her up to him and in upon the lumber. “It's a little better, even if it's nothing to brag about,” he told her. “Sit over there at one side so that the men can crawl in past you. I'll need them to help me.” “And what do you think now--shall we die?” she asked, in tremulous whisper. “No, I don't think so,” he told her, stoutly. They were alone in the hold for a few moments while the others were helping one another through the opening. “But in this trap--in the dark--crowded in here!” Her tone did not express doubt; it was pathetic endeavor to understand their plight. “My father and his men are frightened--they have given up. And you told me that you are frightened!” “Yes, I am!” “But they are not doing anything to help you.” “Perhaps that is because they are not scared as much as I am. It often happens that the more frightened a man is in a tight place the more he jumps around and the harder he tries to get out.” “I don't care what you say--I know what you are!” she rejoined. “You are a brave man, Captain Mayo. I thank you!” “Not yet! Not until--” “Yes, now! You have set me a good example. When folks are scared they should not sit down and whimper!” He reached and found a plump little fist which she had doubled into a real knob of decision. “Good work, little girl! Your kind of grit is helping me.” He released her hand and crawled forward. “This ain't helping us any,” complained Captain Candage. “I know what's going to happen to us. As soon as it gets daylight a cussed coast-guard cutter will come snorting along and blow us up without bothering to find out what is under this turkle-shell.” “Say, look here, Candage,” called Captain Mayo, angrily, “that's enough of that talk! There's a-plenty happening to us as it is, without your infernal driveling about what _may_ happen.” “Isn't it about time for a real man to help Captain Mayo instead of hindering him?” asked the girl. Evidently her new composure startled her father. “Ain't you scared any more, Polly? You ain't losing your mind, are you?” “No, I have it back again, I hope.” “Your daughter is setting you a good example, Captain Candage. Now let's get down to business, sir! What's your sheathing on the ribs?” “Inch and a half spruce, if I remember right.” “I take it she is ribbed about every twelve inches.” “Near's I remember.” “All right! Swarm forward here, the three of you, and have those tools handy as I need 'em.” He had brought the hammer and chisel in his reefer pockets, and set at work on the sheathing over his head, having picked by touch and sense of locality a section which he considered to be nearly amidship. It was blind effort, but he managed to knock away a few square feet of the spruce boarding after a time. “Hand me that saw, whoever has it.”