Already Derek was out of bed and donning his sea-kit. A glance at his wristlet-watch showed that it was 3 a.m. The gale was at its height. Windows were rattling, stones were being hurled up from the beach and thudding against the shuttered windows of the building. Rain and sleet were descending in hissing and blinding sheets. Literally battling his way to the pier-head Derek found his crew busily engaged in preparing motor-boat No. 21 for the coming contest with the elements. The craft was a stout one, specially built for hard work, and heavily engined. If any vessel on the station were capable of keeping the sea that night it was No. 21. "Plenty of petrol, engineer?" shouted Derek, as he gained the deck of the plunging boat. "Tanks full, sir." "Good enough," rejoined Derek, holding on like grim death as the boat ground and bumped heavily against the piles of the pier. "Any sign of the life-boat, signalman?" "Not yet in sight, sir." The youthful Lieutenant gazed seaward. All was a chaotic blur of driving rain and spray. In vain he waited to see the occulting light on the distant Bar Buoy. It was no longer there. An unfortunate accident had extinguished the friendly gleam; and Heaven help the mariner who, running for shelter into Fisherton Harbour, reckoned upon finding the important light in position! "Life-boat in sight, sir!" With her red, blue, and white hull looming up in the glare of the high leading light the life-boat was fighting her way towards the scene of the disaster. She was under sail--close reefed main and mizzen. Her yellow-oilskinned crew were crouching on the thwarts, the only man visible being the coxswain as he stood erect and gripped the long tiller. In another hundred yards a bend in the channel would bring the life-boat's course dead to windward and against a surging flood-tide. It was now that No. 21 would be able to render timely aid. "Cast off bow and stern warps," shouted Derek. "Easy ahead!" With helm hard-a-port the motor-craft swung round, passed to windward of the life-boat, turned again, and ranged up to windward, her crew standing by, ready to pass a stout grass hawser to the life-boat. [Illustration: THE TASK OF GETTING HIM ON BOARD WAS NOT AN EASY ONE] The latter lost no time in accepting the proffered aid. In a trice her scanty canvas was lowered and stowed; a heavy line fell athwart the R.A.F. boat's deck, and to this the towing-warp was bent and paid out. "All fast!" shouted the life-boat's bowman in stentorian tones. It was as well that he confirmed the information with a gesture, for in the roar of the elements his voice was inaudible. "Easy ahead!" ordered Derek. With a jerk that shook No. 21 from keel to truck the hawser took up the strain. For some moments it seemed as if no progress were being made against wind and tide, until foot by foot the hardly-pressed boat and her tow fought their way towards the surging waters on the bar.