He unfastened the lamp and swung it to and fro for a spell, as if to give heart to those on board, then hastened with it down to the beach, closely followed by Creggan.
Not only was there here, in a little rock-bound cove, Creggan's own skiff, but one of far broader beam, one with a sturdy keel, and encircled as to its outside with a great and thick band of cork. The old man called it his lifeboat, and it had done duty more than once before, but never perhaps on so wild and stormy a night as this.
It was quickly launched now, and, being to the manner born, Creggan seized the tiller and the hermit took the oars.
Every rock around the islet was well-known to both. The lamp was hung aloft on a morsel of mast that was stepped near to the fore thwart, and cast its red glare on the seas ahead as well as on the faces of these daring heroes.
Once beyond the protection of the black jutting rocks, it was all that M'Vayne could do—strong though his arms were—to keep the boat from broaching-to, but soon he got weigh on her and then the rudder told.
But how the wind howled, and how the seething, angry waves dashed over them! Sometimes the bows were tossed clean out of the water, and it seemed for a second or two that she would go down stem first into the trough of the sea; and as that wave went racing past her, down dashed the bows again with a slapping sound that could be heard high over the roar of the wind.
CREGGAN KEPT THE BOAT HEAD-ON TO EACH THREATENING WAVE
Not a word was spoken. Not a word could have been heard in the turmoil, unless it were shrieked. Yet Creggan knew enough to keep her head on to each advancing, threatening wave. Neither the fury of the tempest nor the anger of the curling waves frightened him. He felt in that state of exultation which danger never fails to raise in the hearts of the truly brave, and beside which fear finds no place.