III

THE IRISH PRINCE


As dawn broke the cannery tender from the station near by nosed
her way up to the gravelly shore where the castaways were
gathered and blew a cheering toot-toot on her whistle. She was a
flat-bottomed, "wet-sterned" craft, and the passengers of the
Nebraska trooped to her deck over a gang-plank. As Captain
Brennan had predicted, not one of them had wet a foot, with the
exception of the two who had been left aboard through their own
carelessness.

By daylight Halibut Bay appeared an idyllic spot, quite innocent
of the terrors with which the night had endowed it. A pebbled
half-moon of beach was set in among rugged bluffs; the verdant
forest crowded down to it from behind. Tiny crystal wavelets
lapped along the shingle, swaying the brilliant sea mosses which
clung to the larger rocks. Altogether the scene gave a strong
impression of peace and security, yet just in the offing was one
jarring contrast--the masts and funnel of the Nebraska slanting
up out of the blue serenity, where she lay upon the sloping
bottom in the edge of deep water.

The reaction following a sleepless night of anxiety had replaced
the first feeling of thankfulness at deliverance, and it was not