the lookout at Manistee life-saving station saw a small vessel, closely reefed, scudding across the angry seas like a gull.
The lookout called to his mate: “What do you make her out to be?” The other shielded his eyes from the sharp blasts of the spray.
“Yawl rigged, twenty-five or thirty feet, carrying jib and jigger. Looks like she had only three men aboard—never saw her before.”
“Yawl rigged, you say?” The first life-saver stopped to look. “Thirty feet—sure, that’s her. Do you know what that is?” He turned excitedly to the other. “Why, that’s the ‘Gazelle.’ Been round the United States pretty near. Papers are full of it.”
Soon the news was flashed from town to town that the “Gazelle” was safe. The houses of gloom in St. Joseph brightened, and eyes dimmed with tears sparkled with joy. Soon the “Gazelle” herself flew into port and dropped anchor safe and sound.
The people of Manistee turned out to do the young sailors honor.
Again, as if by miracle, the staunch boat had triumphed over the elements. With two anchors down, and several improvised ones out, she had ridden the terrific gale safely.
Next day the little ship started out again, feverishly impatient to get home. Kenneth waited only long enough for the wind to die down a little and to get some very badly needed sleep.
With gales before them, behind them, battling with them from every side, the dogged crew kept on, ever heading southward.
Late one day, each of the three families received a telegram that thrilled them. “At South Haven. All well!” it read. Only twenty miles away now!