From his station at the wheel he shouted something
which the younger men did not catch, but his pointing arm drew their
gaze shoreward.
Coming out from the Head was an open boat. Four figures pulled at
the oars while another held the steering sweep. The daring crew was
heading the boat straight on for the pitching schooner!
"The coast guard!" the old man was now heard to shout. "God bless
them fellers!"
But Tunis knew it was not the lifeboat from the distant station. He
knew the boat, if he could not at first identify those who manned
it. It was an old lifeboat that had been stored in a shed below
John-Ed Williams' place, and these men attempting their rescue were
some of the neighbors from Wreckers' Head.
They came on steadily, the steersman standing at his post and
handling the long oar as though it was a feather's weight. His huge
figure soon identified him. It was Captain John Dunn, who, like Ira
Ball, had left the sea, and he had left his right forearm, too,
because of some accident somewhere on the other side of the globe.
But with the steel hook screwed to its stump and the good hand
remaining to him, Captain Dunn handled that steering oar with more
skill than most other men with two good hands could have done.
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