"No, sir. I don't think I ever was afraid. Yes, I believe I was once for
one moment, no more, when I fell from the maintop-gallant yard, and felt
myself falling. But it was soon over, for I only fell into the maintop.
I was expecting the smash on deck when I was brought up there. But," he
resumed, "I don't care much about the life-boat. My rockets are worth a
good deal more, as you may see, sir, before the winter is over; for seldom
does a winter pass without at least two or three wrecks close by here on
this coast. The full force of the Atlantic breaks here, sir. I _have_ seen
a life-boat--not that one--_she's_ done nothing yet--pitched stern over
stem; not capsized, you know, sir, in the ordinary way, but struck by a
wave behind while she was just hanging in the balance on the knife-edge of
a wave, and flung a somerset, as I say, stern over stem, and four of her
men lost."

While we spoke I saw on the pier-head the tall figure of the painter
looking earnestly at the boat. I thought he was regarding it chiefly from
an artistic point of view, but I became aware before long that that would
not have been consistent with the character of Charles Percivale. He had
been, I learned afterwards, a crack oarsman at Oxford, and had belonged to
the University boat, so that he had some almost class-sympathy with the
doings of the crew.

In a little while the boat sped swiftly back, entered the lock, was lifted
above the level of the storm-heaved ocean, and floated up the smooth canal
calmly as if she had never known what trouble was. Away up to the pretty
little Tudor-fashioned house in which she lay--one could almost fancy
dreaming of storms to come--she went, as softly as if moved only by her
"own sweet will," in the calm consolation for her imprisonment of having
tried her strength, and found therein good hope of success for the time
when she should rush to the rescue of men from that to which, as a monster