the thunder and lightning died away after a time but the rain continued. the constant boom of the sea gradually wore away some of skippy’s calm and he raised his head from time to time to gaze apprehensively at the dark sea rising all about him in mountainous waves.

the sky seemed a black void and at times as the little boat tossed about in the waves, he had the breath-taking sensation that he had turned turtle. once, he mused about what probability there was of his being carried clear across the sea to some european port. he had heard of men being able to live without food or water from ten to fourteen days. well, he had his fishing outfit, he reasoned hopefully; he needn’t starve, but how to get water puzzled him.

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after a few more minutes of tossing wildly about, he decided that the little boat could probably never stand an ocean voyage. with each succeeding wave it came perilously near to upsetting and he doubted that the craft could triumph over the angry sea much longer.

that contingency awoke a strong determination in him, for he got to his feet, reached for the oar and struggled valiantly to balance the boat against the oncoming foe. the rain soaked him through to the skin but he was not cold for he was kept in constant action trying to make one oar do the work of two.

he had lost all sense of time and direction; he thought only of keeping the boat balanced. that he could not keep it up very long did not occur to him, for he already felt the effects of the past week’s malnutrition and his long journey from the basin had fatigued him.

after what seemed an interminable time he caught a glimpse of a light, a faint gleam, but nevertheless a light. he gasped with joy and looked hard into the darkness to get a definite idea of its location. in point of fact he looked so hard he all but swamped the boat.

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great beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead when he righted the boat, but he came up triumphant on the crest of a wave. the exertion was too much for him, however; he felt inexpressibly weak and tired. his muscles ached and a giddiness in his head made him feel as if he must lie down.

but there was the light just ahead and he bent his frail body in a supreme effort to reach it. he was cheered because it did not seem to move and he ventured to hope that it might be on the shore. the main thing—it was a light, and light might reasonably be expected to mean rescue by all the rules of the game.

suddenly a great arc of faint yellow light swept from behind and circled his head. he had come to no decision about its origin before it came again, a little brighter than before. then after some minutes had passed and it had grown still brighter, it occurred to him that it was from the lighthouse at the hook and the great light had gradually penetrated the fast dissolving haze.

he took heart at this because he knew he could not be so very far away from land. but he knew it was futile to even hope to get back there in his boat. it might be ten miles and it might be twenty. the great light at the hook boasted a range of thirty miles on a clear night, he had heard his father say.

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the light that gave him real hope was the heartening glimmer just ahead. he knew that it was not just because he wished it so fervently, but he could plainly see that it became brighter as the boat advanced.

then suddenly he heard the faint ringing of a bell, which echoed eerily on the shifting wind.