So far he had been more successful than he had reason to expect, but the task that he must now accomplish was not less difficult. He must reach the shore safely, and with another life beside his own to guard.
It was out of the question to attempt to get back to the cove; the landing must be made on the open beach, and, although Captain Eri had more than once brought a dory safely through a high surf, he had never attempted it when his boat had nearly a foot of water in her and carried a helpless passenger.
Little by little, still running before the wind, the Captain edged in toward the shore. Luther Davis moved once or twice, but said nothing. His oilskins were frozen stiff and his beard was a lump of ice. Captain Eri began to fear that he might die from cold and exhaustion before the attempt at landing was made. The Captain resolved to wait no longer, but to take the risk of running directly for the beach.
He was near enough now to see the leaping spray of the breakers, and their bellow sounded louder than the howl of the wind or the noises of the sea about him. He bent forward and shouted in the ear of the prostrate life-saver.
“Luther!” he yelled, “Lute!”
Captain Davis' head rolled back, his eyes opened, and, in a dazed way, he looked at the figure swinging back and forth with the oars.
“Lute!” shouted Captain Eri, “listen to me! I'm goin' to try to land. D'you hear me?”
Davis' thoughts seemed to be gathering slowly. He was, ordinarily, a man of strong physique, courageous, and a fighter every inch of him, but his strength had been beaten out by the waves and chilled by the cold, and the sight of the men with whom he had lived and worked for years drowning one by one, had broken his nerve. He looked at his friend, and then at the waves.
“What's the use?” he said feebly. “They're all gone. I might as well go, too.”
Captain Eri's eyes snapped. “Lute Davis,” he exclaimed, “I never thought I'd see you playin' crybaby. Brace up! What are you, anyway?”