“Ay! ay! my man, I’ll send a boat for you!” “No! no! I am all right, but your vessel is not. Get up your anchors, and set sail!” There was no mistaking these cool words, and a voice cried: “I see him!” There, out upon the waters, swimming with powerful, rapid strokes toward the yacht could be seen, every moment as he rose on the crest of a wave, our bold young swimmer. A cheer broke from the crew forward, and was echoed by the guests aft. But again came from the daring young swimmer: “You have no time to lose; get sail on your yacht and your anchors up, for this bay is a death-trap!” The skipper was a man of quick action, and the warning from the swimmer but carried out his own ideas, and he sent his crew flying to their posts, while General Peyton stood by to throw a line to the one who was now but a few yards away. A minute more, and amid a ringing cheer the bold swimmer stood upon the deck, a handsome, fearless-faced youth, bareheaded, barefooted, and clad only in duck pants and sailor shirt. “Well, young man, who are you who so bravely boards my craft almost in mid-ocean?” cried General Peyton, as all gazed with admiration upon the lad. The response came bluntly: “I am not here, sir, to speak of myself, but to pilot your vessel to a safe harbor, for you are in Hopeless Haven, and yonder storm will wreck you here.” “Hopeless Haven is it, my lad? Then are you a hundred times welcome, and to one who has your nerve I gladly yield the craft,” said Captain Saunders hastily, and Mark Merrill stepped to the wheel just as the anchors left the bottom, and the reefed sails went to leeward with a jerk under a sudden squall. But the boy pilot was unmoved, and, declining a glass of liquor brought to him by the steward, at General Peyton’s order, bent his every energy upon his work, for now the rushing, furious storm was coming down in an avalanche of winds and waves, and a roaring and flaming like unto a mighty battle. As though wild with fear the yacht drove furiously on, heading to round the rocky reef off the cliff, her crew at their posts, the guests crouched in the companionway and cock-pit, and all eyes alternately turned upon the young pilot, calm and fearless, and the storm so near upon them. It seemed like a mad race for life, for the boy pilot had said: “Anchors will not hold on this bottom, and we must round that reef to reach safety.” At last the order came in the boy’s clear voice: “Slack off the sheets! steady now! hold hard all!” And with the orders the howling storm was upon them, and the gallant yacht went driving ahead with furious speed, with all about her now darkness and chaos. How he knew his way, all asked, none knew, but his orders came steadily to haul taunt, or slack off sheets, until suddenly the giant waves ceased to follow, the wind was broken by the lofty cliff, and the anchors were let go in the secure haven of Beacon Cliff.