A CRUISE THAT BEGAN. 



91 



suspense. Then something happened. A 

 gust of wind struck us and whirled us to 

 port, the captain at the same time slacken- 

 ing the cable. We were saved. The stran- 

 ger passed across our bows to starboard 

 with scarcely a foot to spare. 



"Hey, you ! Catch this line." 



We could faintly see a man on the ves- 

 sel, with a coil of rope in his hand. As he 

 spoke he gave it a toss and it fell across 

 our deck. I sprang quickly forward and 

 took a few turns with it around the mast, 

 just above our own cable, which the cap- 

 tain was now making fast. It was a dan- 

 gerous thing to do, but danger was not 

 thought of in the excitement of the mo- 

 ment. Could our anchor hold both vessels? 

 That was the question that stared us in the 

 face. As the line grew taut I gradually 

 loosened my end in order to break the 

 force of the final tremendous strain which 

 would probably have snapped the stran- 

 ger's line or own cable. At last the ves- 

 sel was riding free and swinging to her 

 line. Our anchor was still holding firmly. 

 We were compelled, however, to change 

 the line from the mast to a cleat in the 

 stern, since it was playing havoc with our 

 tarpaulin, as it swung back and forth. 



"This is glorious," said the sport, as we 

 crawled back into the cabin, shivering with 

 cold and excitement. We looked at him 

 with disdain. He was to be excused, 

 though ; he was not a sailor. 



But danger was not yet over. Suddenly 

 there came a fearful lurch, and a mighty 

 strain at the anchor. For a second there 

 was no response. 



"Boys, she's gone ! The cable's parted," 

 I cried, and sprang wildly toward the open- 

 ing. But I was thrown headlong off my 

 feet. Another wave had struck, and the 

 cable pulled taut. We were still safe. 



I fumbled round, lighted the lintern and 

 looked at the clock. It was just 3. The 

 dim, yellow light fell on 3 of the most mis- 

 erable and abject creatures imaginable. 

 We sat there, glum and silent, drenched 

 to the skin, with our hands clasped about 

 our knees. Two long, weary hours before 

 us till dawn. How slowly the minutes 

 dragged ; but soon our anxiety was re- 

 moved when we discovered that the temp- 

 est was abating. The rain ceased to fall, 

 and wind and sea were subsiding. Tom 

 started a song. Rob and I tried to join in 

 the chorus ; but it was a dismal failure ; 

 our spirits were too dampened. 



At 5, faint streaks of light were visible 

 through the trees crowning the bluffs to 

 the Eastward. The rising sun soon gave 

 promise of a fair day. The wind had en- 

 tirely died out and the water presented so 

 peaceful and unruffled an appearance that 

 one could scarcely believe it capable of the 



fury into which it had lashed itself only a 

 few hours before. 



The first thing we did when we went on 

 deck was to take a look at our visitor of 

 the night. She proved to be an aristo- 

 cratic looking Newport cat ; she was ap- 

 parently uninjured and was riding quietly 

 at her own anchor once more. As yet 

 there were no signs of life aboard. Other 

 vessels in the harbor had not been so for- 

 tunate, as the wrecks of several on the 

 breakwater testified. Happily there had 

 been no lives lost, although there were 

 many narrow escapes. 



As quickly as possible we hauled out on 

 deck our household goods for drying. In 

 a moment we had converted the Stingaree 

 into a monstrous clothes-horse. Blankets 

 and clothing of all kinds floated from mast- 

 head, shroud, halyard and topping lift. The 

 cook had a great deal of trouble preparing 

 breakfast that morning with damp matches 

 and smoking oil wicks. However, our pa- 

 tience was rewarded when we sat down to 

 our simple but appetizing meal of corn- 

 beef hash, boiled eggs and fragrant coffee. 

 While we were eating, our friends from 

 the catboat rowed alongside and almost 

 swamped us by expressions of gratitude 

 for our service during the night. 



The bright sun and the brisk Northwest 

 wind dried all our clothing beautifully by 

 afternoon. When we had stowed everything 

 away and put the boat shipshape once 

 more, we called Tom and held a coun- 

 cil to decide whether we should con- 

 tinue the cruise. To our astonishment, 

 Tom sprung on us the startling informa- 

 tion that it was necessary he should be 

 home that very evening. He had an im- 

 portant engagement to fill which he had 

 forgotten until that moment. In fact, he 

 must take the train for New York right 

 away. Rob and I thought it strange 

 this had not occurred to him before. Still, 

 we did not blame him. He had been 

 through experiences that were trying to a 

 landsman. Well, this turn of affairs set- 

 tled the question. We did not care to con- 

 tinue the cruise alone. Then, again, our 

 provisions were ruined, and everything 

 else was in bad condition. So we took 

 Tom ashore and bade him a fond fare- 

 well. Not many minutes afterward our 

 sails were hoisted, and we were soon cut- 

 ting the waters of the Sound at a lively 

 clip, with a puffy Nor'wester abeam. 

 By the time we reached Stamford Light 

 the wind dropped with the setting sun, and 

 it was with difficulty that we beat up the 

 harbor. We arrived home late in the even- 

 ing. Our friends were relieved, since they 

 were beginning to feel anxiety for our 

 safety. The storm had been a severe one 

 along the coast from Florida to Maine, 

 and many vessels were lost. 



