But there was a single figure upon the deck that did not seem mad with terror. A huge fellow he was who stood leaning against the capstan watching the wild antics of his fellows with a certain wondering expression of incredulity, the while a contemptuous smile curled his lips. As Barbara Harding chanced to look in his direction he also chanced to turn his eyes toward the wheelhouse. It was the mucker. The girl was surprised that he, the greatest coward of them all, should be showing no signs of cowardice now--probably he was paralyzed with fright. The moment that the man saw the two who were in the wheelhouse and the work that they were doing he sprang quickly toward them. At his approach the girl shrank closer to Theriere. What new outrage did the fellow contemplate? Now he was beside her. The habitual dark scowl blackened his expression. He laid a heavy hand on Barbara Harding's arm. “Come out o' dat,” he bellowed. “Dat's no kind o' job fer a broiler.” And before either she or Theriere could guess his intention the mucker had pushed Barbara aside and taken her place at the wheel. “Good for you, Byrne!” cried Theriere. “I needed you badly.” “Why didn't yeh say so den?” growled the man. With the aid of Byrne's Herculean muscles and great weight the bow of the Halfmoon commenced to come slowly around so that presently she almost paralleled the cliffs again, but now she was much closer in than when Skipper Simms had deserted her to her fate--so close that Theriere had little hope of being able to carry out his plan of taking her opposite the opening and then turning and running her before the wind straight into the swirling waters of the inlet. Now they were almost opposite the aperture and between the giant cliffs that rose on either side of the narrow entrance a sight was revealed that filled their hearts with renewed hope and rejoicing, for a tiny cove was seen to lie beyond the fissure--a cove with a long, wide, sandy beach up which the waves, broken at the entrance to the little haven, rolled with much diminished violence. “Can you hold her alone for a second, Byrne?” asked Theriere. “We must make the turn in another moment and I've got to let out sail. The instant that you see me cut her loose put your helm hard to starboard. She'll come around easy enough I imagine, and then hold her nose straight for that opening. It's one chance in a thousand; but it's the only one. Are you game?” “You know it, cul--go to 't,” was Billy Byrne's laconic rejoinder. As Theriere left the wheel Barbara Harding stepped to the mucker's side. “Let me help you,” she said. “We need every hand that we can get for the next few moments.” “Beat it,” growled the man. “I don't want no skirts in my way.”