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."]