The lighthouse had been slowly growing larger. At last, from the top of each wave, the men in the boat could see land. Slowly, the land seemed to rise from the sea. Soon, the men could see two lines, one black and one white. They knew that the black line was formed by trees, and the white line was the sand. At last, the captain saw a house on the shore. And the lighthouse became even larger. «The keeper of the lighthouse should be able to see us now», said the captain. «He’ll notify the life-saving people». Slowly and beautifully, the land rose from the sea. The wind came again. Finally, the men heard a new sound — the sound of waves breaking and crashing on the shore. «We’ll never be able to make the lighthouse now», said the captain. «Swing her head a little more north, Billie». «A little more north, sir», said the sailor. The men watched the shore grow larger. They became hopeful. In an hour, perhaps, they would be on land. The men struggled to keep the boat from turning over. They were used to balancing in the boat. Now they rode this wild horse of a boat like circus men. The water poured over them. The reporter thought he was now wet to the skin. But he felt in the top pocket of his coat and found eight cigars. Four were wet, but four were still dry. One of the men found some dry matches. Each man lit a cigar. The four men sailed in their boat with the belief of a rescue shining in their eyes. They smoked their big cigars and took a drink of water.