'Yes, if we can get the boat out,' he said. 'Now, Jem, are you ready?'
'Let me go with you, grandfather,' I said; 'I might be able to help.'
'All right, my lad,' he said; 'we'll try if we can get her off.'
I can see that scene with my mind's eye as though it were but yesterday.
My grandfather and Mr. Millar straining every nerve to row the boat from
land, whilst I clung on to one of the seats, and tried in vain to steer
her. I can see poor Mrs. Millar standing on the pier, with her shawl
over her head, watching us, and two of her little girls clinging to her
dress. I can see the waves, which seemed to be rising higher every
moment, and ready to beat our little boat to pieces. And I can see my
grandfather's disappointed face, as, after many a fruitless attempt, he
was obliged to give it up.
'It's no use, I'm afraid, Jem,' he said at last; 'we haven't hands
enough to manage her.'
So we got to shore as best we could, and paced up and down the little
pier. We could see nothing more. It was a very dark night, and all was
perfect blackness over the sea.
The lighthouse lamps were burning brightly; they had been lighted more
than two hours before. It was Millar's turn to watch, so he went up to
the tower, and my grandfather and I remained on the pier.
'Can nothing be done, grandfather?'
'I'm afraid not, my lad.
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