"Yessah!" stammers the boy, feeling slowly in the stern.

The work and the fear settle into a sodden, unbroken period of three
hours more. Growing familiarity with the seas aids Corkey in holding
the craft to the wind. But how long can he last? How long can he defy
the wind?

"Bail, my son!" he begs.

"Yessah," stammers the boy.

The gray light begins to touch the east. Corkey has lived an age since
he saw that light. He is afraid of it now.

A cloud moves by and the morning bursts on the group.

Busy as he is, Corkey is eager to see the man in the stern.

"Holy smoke!" says the oarsman.

"Yessah!" stammers the obedient lad.

The face on the stern seat startles Corkey. The nose is broken, the
lips are cut, some of the front teeth are gone and the face has been
bloody. It is like a wound poulticed white. It has been wet and cold
all night.

"Lockwin, isn't it you?" asks Corkey, greatly moved at a sight so
affecting.