But in all that wild waste there was no refuge for Leach and Johnson save on the _Ghost_, and they resolutely began the windward beat.

It was slow work in the heavy sea that was running.

At any moment they were liable to be overwhelmed by the hissing combers.

Time and again and countless times we watched the boat luff into the big whitecaps, lose headway, and be flung back like a cork.
Johnson was a splendid seaman, and he knew as much about small boats as he did about ships.

At the end of an hour and a half he was nearly alongside, standing past our stern on the last leg out, aiming to fetch us on the next leg back.
"So you've changed your mind ?" I heard Wolf Larsen mutter, half to himself, half to them as though they could hear.