In a moment he came up, scowling, only to grin as he saw the good nature of all hands. With a wave of his arm he sent men to the davits, and in a few minutes the boats came bobbing up and were swung onto the deck and made fast. Joe Parento crawled to his feet and came stumbling toward the group on the deck with his hand nursing his bruised jaw. He gaped dazedly about into the grinning faces. He gasped with fright as his eyes rested on the blotch of blood which had oozed from the captain's left shoulder and stained his oilskins. "I no go for to shoot you, cap, honest!" he denied. "Shut up!" the skipper roared. "Here's your gun! Better toss it over the side, or you'll get into real trouble with it." He flung the gun to the Italian, who caught it and threw it over the rail into the water. "Is everything snug, mister?" the skipper bawled to the mate. "Shipshape and Bristol fashion, sir!" the mate answered as he came to the skipper's side. "Break out dry clothes for these sailors and find places for 'em to sleep. Break out a half dozen quarts of whisky and give 'em a nip. They've been wet and might catch cold." He spoke kindly to the captured commander. "If you'll come with me, sir, I'll show you your quarters up alongside my own, and some dry clothes, and some real stuff, if you'll have it. We'll be back at the twelve-mile line in an hour or so, and you can wireless from one of the boats in the row for a cutter to come after you and your men." As they walked by the switch-box he reached in and snapped off the lights. His flash light glowed for a moment as he opened the door of a cabin and ushered the rescued officer inside. Walking to his own room, he came out with an armful of clothing and handed them to the commander, telling him to don them in the dark. Then he lurched to the ladder and climbed the bridge. "Half speed, chief, stand by for full!" he growled down the tube. He swayed back and forth dizzily as his head swam from weakness and gnawing pain in his left shoulder. The scuff of the Coast Guard commander's shoes sounded as he climbed the steps and groped along the bridge. His arm ran around the sagging waist of the skipper. "Better come on down and rest awhile yourself, sir," he suggested. "I'm fresh, and I know this Sound as well as you do. I'll con the old tub out and deliver her in Rum Row." He supported the faltering steps of the old man down the steps and along to his stateroom, and then raced back to the bridge. Half crawling out on the weather apron, he peered and listened into the impenetrable murk. The black ship swung slowly around to his orders and began to forge up the Sound out toward the open sea. THE END