"When
that tow-line broke back there, it seemed as though one of my heart
strings went too. But there was nothing to do about it; nothing we
could do. It was all we could do to work the _Fledgling_ through."
"Most captains would 'a' cut them barges adrift long before the line
broke," replied the mate; "no use thinkin' about them now; they've
gone, long ago."
Dan worked his way along the pitching floor to the side windows. His
face was tense and drawn. He had never lost a tow before--this was a
part of his reputation. And now. . . . He turned slowly to resume his
place at the wheel, when suddenly, as the tug was sidling down a wave,
the tail of his eye caught a glimpse of a buff funnel protruding above
the wave tops a good quarter of a mile away. His first impression was
that the water had claimed all but the funnel. He was not sure. He
waited. It seemed an age while the tug climbed to the top of the next
comber. Slowly, slowly the buff funnel again came into view, and then
as the tug still climbed he saw it all--a white, broad-waisted yacht
cluttering in the grip of the waters, throwing her stern toward heaven,
reeling over, taking water on one rail, letting it through the opposite
scuppers, sticking her bow into the waves and rising, shaking off the
water like a fat spaniel.
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