remember once in a while that it was old Ned Saulsby of Appledore Island that launched you. That is all, only—only—God bless you.”
He actually took Billy’s arm and pushed him toward the boat. “There is no one but Johann Happs would stand a chance of getting across in the face of such a storm,” he added, “but I believe he can make it. I will explain to your Aunt. Now drop in the tender, and I will push you off.”
People tell on Appledore Island today, and will tell for many a year to come, of the great storm of April, nineteen seventeen. They will show you just how far up the shore the waves broke at high tide; they will tell you the maximum velocity of the wind, and will point out the broken wreckage of two fishing boats that dragged their anchors and were thrown upon the beach. And they will always end by saying—
“And would you believe it, there were two boys that put out to sea right in the face of it? Boys, mind you, and one of them not born and bred to sailing a boat. A little craft, they had, too; Sanderson’s Echo; you can see her at anchor over yonder by the wharf.”
