So sturdily did the hermit row, that in less than twenty minutes' time—and this did not seem long—the boat was well to windward of the stranded craft.
The danger now was great. To bear down on the wave-tops and get alongside seemed almost a hopeless task.
But although she shipped some water she came bravely round, and went heading inland now, like a bird adrift on the ocean tide.
The Skyemen on board the stranded craft saw her, and did not require to be told to throw a rope. Next minute it seemed—so quickly did the minutes fly—that the tiny lifeboat was alongside and fast.
"Quick now!" shouted the hermit. "Lower down the ladies and the boy. We can only manage three. Bear a hand, my lads. Bear a hand!"
It seemed in answer to the hermit's prayers that at this moment a lull in the storm took place, and the moon shone out bright and clear over the tempestuous sea.
Nevertheless, the labour of getting the trembling lady and frightened little Matty on board was most dangerous, and had to be undertaken with the greatest caution.
Nugent shouted to his son Willie to go next, but the brave boy positively refused to get over the side until the boat returned from the shore when his father had landed. His father must go first, he said.
She did return, and then took off young Nugent and two seamen, all she could stow away with safety. There was but one man left in the lugger now.
Alas, for his fate!