He paused for a few seconds, as though taking in the whole situation, and then quickly ran around the edge of the cliff to where there was a small arbor, in the top of which had been a beacon in the early days of the mansion.
Quickly divesting himself of his jacket, shoes, stockings and hat, he began to descend the steep side of the cliff with the agility of a cat.
He reached within twenty feet of the water’s edge, and turning, gazed first out at the yacht, half a mile distant, and then down into the surf, dashing with thunderous roar against the base of the cliff.
“Now for it!” and as the words left his lips Mark Merrill made the fateful spring into the surging breakers on his daring swim out to the yacht in the face of the coming storm.
CHAPTER VI.
THE BOY PILOT.
The schooner yacht Midshipman was on a pleasure cruise of several weeks with a distinguished party on board.
She was a large, roomy and stanch craft, as well as carrying the champion colors as a racer, won in showing a clean pair of heels to the fleet pleasure boats when a cup or purse was at stake.
Her distinguished owner, a millionaire Bostonian, had invited a congenial party to become his guests for a cruise from Fortress Monroe along the coast to the St. Lawrence and back to Newport, and among the guests were several who had won fame in the history of their country in civil and military life.
The Honorable Secretary of the United States Navy, gallant Commodore Lucien, and several others of lesser note, accompanied by half a dozen ladies, comprised the guests of General Peyton on the Midshipman.