Free Storm Warriors by Elisa Carbone Page A

sir,” Mr. Etheridge addressed the shorter man. “I'm sorry to hear of the trouble.”
    Superintendent Morgan nodded. “We'll need nails and iron bolts to repair the rudder,” he said. “And a place to stay until we can sail again.”
    Mr. Etheridge looked toward shore, where the crew was just starting out in a couple of fishing skiffs. “We'll have you and your crew back to the station in no time,” he said.
    The ship's crew lowered a ladder, and the two officersclimbed down and stepped carefully into our skiff. They took their seats, their backs ramrod straight as they sat on the rough wooden boards. I admired their uniforms: the deep blue of their coats, the gold glint of the buttons.
    “Nathan.” Daddy had to nudge me out of staring. “I still need you to man the rudder.”
    I blinked. I moved to the back of the skiff and closed my hand around the smooth handle of the rudder. As Daddy sheeted in the sails, we began to move easily over the water. Could this be real? Was I actually sailing Lieutenant Cantwell, Superintendent Morgan, and Keeper Etheridge back to shore in our boat? I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning and laughing out loud. And everyone had been telling me not to hope for things that seemed impossible!
    We moved swiftly, the skiff slapping over the water, the wind in my face, and the morning sun lighting up the marsh grasses onshore. I decided then and there that I would never call anything impossible again.

TEN
    The knocking at our door was loud and insistent, and it woke me from a deep sleep. Daddy roused himself to answer it. I listened to the news: there was a wreck, a three-masted schooner. One of the surfmen, George Midgett, was ill, and the Oregon Inlet crew had not yet arrived. The schooner had already begun to break up. They must launch the surfboat, but quickly. They needed our help—
now
.
    I was out of bed by the time Daddy turned from the door. We threw on our clothes and ran through the brush to the station. A howling northwest wind blew sand in our faces. Bright stars twinkled in the black sky.
    The surfboat had just been rolled down the ramp. Daddy and I immediately snatched up drag ropes to pull. The sand gave way under my feet, and I heard the wheels creak as we hauled theboat along the shore, south toward the dark hulk of the stranded schooner. The surf pounded, loud and jumbled.
    When we reached the wreck, Mr. Etheridge shouted, “Unload!” Instead of standing out of the way with Daddy, I took what I figured to be Mr. Midgett's job of helping to lower the boat into the shore break. Then, with the shouting of “Take oars!” and “Go!,” I pushed hard, running alongside the surfboat. I helped shove the boat through the pounding breakers until a cold wave washed over my head. I gulped in salt water and choked. Some-one's strong hands grabbed my arms and hoisted me upward. I flopped over the side of the boat. It was now afloat and being rowed quickly out to sea.
    “Damn you, Nathan!” It was Mr. Bowser's voice. But he was too busy rowing to say any more.
    I choked on the water still in my lungs. A wave crashed over the side of the boat and drenched my face again. I blinked salt water away and saw an unmanned oar. I would prove I'd done the right thing. I would row as well as the other surfmen.
    I set my oar to work in rhythm with the men. The boat rocked crazily, buffeted by the uneven waves. Pull … pull … I put my mind to the rowing, not the danger. Stripes of white foam glowed in the moonlight with inky black sea in between. Short bursts of my own breath sounded in my ears.
    The schooner, dark and huge, loomed ahead. Excited shouting greeted us. We pulled the surfboat along her leeward side,being careful not to collide. One of the sailors on deck held a coil of rope. When we came near, he swung his arm back and cast the rope out, but a gust of wind took the rope and flung it into the ocean. It landed just off the side of the surfboat, hardly two feet out of my