Dan,
however, had not time for words; he stood with hands on the wheel
watching the red, reeking bow rearing almost in his face; watched it,
cool, ready to take the first chance of escape, if the present danger
offered such a chance. Slowly, easily, the wave passed, and down came
the two bows with a crash. The bow of the _Veiled Ladye_ just grazed
the _Fledgling's_ weather rail, tearing off a fender, while Dan
signalled full speed astern. It was fortunate that he had his wits
about him, for the erratic yacht, instead of falling back as she
naturally should have done, suddenly moved forward under the impulse of
a swell, butting the tug, almost gently, about ten feet from the bow.
Then the tug backed clear, and, breasting the waves, began to take up
the slack cables. A hundred yards she went and then stopped headway
with a jerk as the men slipped the cables over the bitts.
The collision had not hurt the tug apparently, although there was no
telling whether or not the jolt had weakened her structurally. But Dan
was not the man to worry about eventualities. An hour's straining and
hauling resulted in bringing the yacht's head full into the seas, and
then at four o'clock Dan snuggled his craft to, for the long eleven
hours' fight.
The afternoon waned into twilight, softly, impalpably, and the twilight
wavered into night.
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