'What's wrong with them, grandfather?' I asked. 'Are there rocks over
there?'

'Yes, there's the Ainslie Crag just there; it's a nasty place that--a
very nasty place. Many a fine ship has been lost there!'

At last the day began to dawn; a faint grey light spread over the sea.
We could distinguish now the masts of a ship in the far distance. 'There
she is, poor thing!' said my grandfather, pointing in the direction of
the ship. 'She's close on Ainslie Crag--I thought so!'

'The wind's gone down a bit now, hasn't it?' I asked.

'Yes, and the sea's a bit stiller just now,' he said. 'Give Jem a call,
Alick.'

Jem Millar hastened down to the pier with his arms full of rope.

'All right, Jem, my lad,' said my grandfather. 'Let's be off; I think we
may manage it now.'

So we jumped into the boat, and put off from the pier. It was a fearful
struggle with the wind and waves, and for a long time we seemed to make
no way against them. Both the men were much exhausted, and Jem Millar
seemed ready to give in.

'Cheer up, Jem, my lad,' said my grandfather; 'think of all the poor
fellows out there. Let's have one more try!'

So they made a mighty effort, and the pier was left a little way behind.