Now they were almost opposite the aperture and between the giant cliffs that rose on either side of the narrow entrance a sight was revealed that filled their hearts with renewed hope and rejoicing, for a tiny cove was seen to lie beyond the fissure—­a cove with a long, wide, sandy beach up which the waves, broken at the entrance to the little haven, rolled with much diminished violence.

“Can you hold her alone for a second, Byrne?” asked Theriere.  “We must make the turn in another moment and I’ve got to let out sail.  The instant that you see me cut her loose put your helm hard to starboard.  She’ll come around easy enough I imagine, and then hold her nose straight for that opening.  It’s one chance in a thousand; but it’s the only one.  Are you game?”

“You know it, cul—­go to ’t,” was Billy Byrne’s laconic rejoinder.

As Theriere left the wheel Barbara Harding stepped to the mucker’s side.

“Let me help you,” she said.  “We need every hand that we can get for the next few moments.”

“Beat it,” growled the man.  “I don’t want no skirts in my way.”

With a flush, the girl drew back, and then turning watched Theriere where he stood ready to cut loose the sail at the proper instant.  The vessel was now opposite the cleft in the cliffs.  Theriere had lashed a new sheet in position.  Now he cut the old one.  The sail swung around until caught in position by the stout line.  The mucker threw the helm hard to starboard.  The nose of the brigantine swung quickly toward the rocks.  The sail filled, and an instant later the ship was dashing to what seemed her inevitable doom.

Skipper Simms, seeing what Theriere had done after it was too late to prevent it, dashed madly across the deck toward his junior.

“You fool!” he shrieked.  “You fool!  What are you doing?  Driving us straight for the rocks—­murdering the whole lot of us!” and with that he sprang upon the Frenchman with maniacal fury, bearing him to the deck beneath him.

Barbara Harding saw the attack of the fear-demented man, but she was powerless to prevent it.  The mucker saw it too, and grinned—­he hoped that it would be a good fight; there was nothing that he enjoyed more.  He was sorry that he could not take a hand in it, but the wheel demanded all his attention now, so that he was even forced to take his eyes from the combatants that he might rivet them upon the narrow entrance to the cove toward which the Halfmoon was now plowing her way at constantly increasing speed.

The other members of the ship’s company, all unmindful of the battle that at another time would have commanded their undivided attention, stood with eyes glued upon the wild channel toward which the brigantine’s nose was pointed.  They saw now what Skipper Simms had failed to see—­the little cove beyond, and the chance for safety that the bold stroke offered if it proved successful.

With steady muscles and giant sinews the mucker stood by the wheel—­nursing the erratic wreck as no one might have supposed it was in him to do.  Behind him Barbara Harding watched first Theriere and Simms, and then Byrne and the swirling waters toward which he was heading the ship.