“Unless . . . Hush! listen!” There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of hiss and low, watery roar. I rushed to the bow and dragged the anchor inboard with all my strength. Then I ran to the wheel. I had scarcely reached it when I felt a hand on my arm. “What is it?” asked the young lady, her voice quivering. “Oh, what is it?” “Wind,” I answered. “There is a squall coming. Sit down! Sit down!” “But--but--” “Sit down.” She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the bench beside me. I threw the helm over. The rushing sound grew nearer. Then came a blast of wind which sent my cap flying overboard and the fog disappeared as if it had been a cloth snatched away by a mighty hand. Above us was a black sky, with stars showing here and there between flying clouds, and about us were the waves, already breaking into foam upon the shoal. The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough. We were being driven by the wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough. Somehow or other we must get out of that dangerous neighborhood. I turned to my companion. She had not spoken since the squall came. “Miss Colton,” I said, “give me your hands.” I presume she could not imagine what I meant. No doubt, too, my tone and the request frightened her. She hesitated. I seized her hands and placed them on the spokes of the wheel. “I want you to hold that wheel just as it is,” I commanded. “I must go forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we shall capsize. Can you hold it, do you think?” “Yes; I--I think so.” “You must.” I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas tarpaulin which I used to cover the engine at night. With this, a cod line, the boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury rig which I tied erect at the forward end of the cockpit. Then I went aft and took the wheel again. The tarpaulin made a poor apology for a sail, but I hoped it might answer the purpose well enough to keep the Comfort before the wind. It did. Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the gale astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves instead of rolling between them. I sighed in relief. Then I remembered my passenger sitting silent beside me. She did not deserve consideration, but I vouchsafed a word of encouragement. “Don't be frightened,” I said. “It is only a stiff breeze and this boat is seaworthy. We are all right now.” “But why did you take up the anchor?” By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern. In the darkness the froth of the shoal gleamed white. I felt her shudder as she looked. “Where are we going now--please?” she asked, a moment later. “We are headed for the Wellmouth shore. It is the only direction we can take. If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours. It is all deep water now. There are no more shoals.” “But,” anxiously, “can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad coast?”