I would have wished to be able to do my share of the steering, but only Hugh Glynn could properly steer that dory that day. The dory would have sunk a hundred times only for the buoys in the waist; but she would have capsized more times than that again only for the hand of him in the stern. Steady he sat, a man of marble, his jaw like a cliff rising above the collar of his woollen shirt, his two eyes like two lights glowing out from under his cap brim. And yet for all of him I couldn't see how we could live through it. Once we were so terribly beset that, "We'll be lost carrying sail like this, Hugh Glynn!" I called back to him. And he answered: "I never could see any difference myself, Simon, between being lost carrying sail and being lost hove to." After that I said no more. And so, to what must have been the wonder of wind and sea that day, Hugh Glynn drove the little dory into the night and the lee of Sable Island. V We took in our sail and let go our anchor. Hugh Glynn looked long above and about him. "A clear night coming, Simon; and cold, with the wind backing into the no'west. We'll lay here, for big vessels will be running for this same lee to-night, and maybe a chance for us to be picked up with the daylight. Did I do well this day by you, Simon?" "I'd be a lost man hours back but for you," I said, and was for saying more in praise of him, but he held up his hand. "So you don't hold me a reckless, desperate sail carrier, Simon, never mind the rest." His eyes were shining. "But your voice is weary, Simon, and you're hungry, too, I know." I was hungry and worn--terribly worn--after the day, and so told him. "Then lie down and 'twill rest you, and for a time make you forget the hunger. And while you're lying down, Simon, I'll stand watch." And I made ready to lie down, when I thought of his sweater I was wearing. I unbuttoned my oil jacket to get at it. "It's colder already, skipper, and you will be needing it." "No, it is you will be needing it, Simon. Being on my feet, d'y' see, I can thrash around and keep warm." "But will you call me and take it if it grows too cold, skipper?" "I'll call you when I want it--lie down now." "A wonderful calm night, full as quiet as last night, skipper," I said, "only no harm in this night--no gale before us on the morrow." "No, Simon," he said--"naught but peace before us. But lie down you, boy." "And you''ll call me, skipper," I said, "when my watch comes?" "I'll call you when I've stood my full watch. Lie down now." I lay down, meaning to keep awake. But I fell asleep. I thought I felt a hand wrapping something around me in the night, and I made to sit up, but a voice said, "Lie down, boy," and I lay down and went to asleep again. When I awoke it was to the voices of strange men, and one was saying: "He will be all right now."