372 THE FAT OF THE LAND 
mast broken flush with its deck, and its helpless 
body the sport of the cruel waves. 
The light did not last longer than it would take 
me to count five, but in that time I saw four 
figures that will always haunt me. Two sailors 
in yachting costume were struggling hopelessly 
with the tiller, and the wild terror of their faces 
as they saw the huge destruction that hung over 
them is simply unforgettable. 
The other two were different. A strong, blond 
man, young, handsome, and brave I know, stood 
bareheaded in front of the cockpit. With a sud- 
den, vehement motion he drew the head of a girl 
to his breast and held it there as if to shut out 
the horrible world. There was no fear in his 
face, — just pain and distress that he was unable 
to do more. I am thankful that I did not see 
the face of the girl. Her brown hair has floated 
in my dreams until I have cried out for help; 
what would her face have done? 
In the twinkling of an eye it was over. I heard 
a sound as when one breaks an egg on the edge 
of a cup,—no more. I screamed with horror, 
ran across the guarded plank, climbed the gate, 
and fell headlong and screaming over the donkey- 
engine. Picking up my battered self, I shouted: 
« Bahrens! Bahrens! for God’s sake, help! 
Man overboard! Stop the ship!” 
I reached the ladder to the bridge just as the 
captain came out of the chart house. 
“For God’s sake, stop the ship! You’ve run 
Se are eT ee aa 
