With one wild, exultant leap the vessel burst from its moorings, churning the iron-bound waves to sheer desperation, foaming at the mouth, and sobbing piteously. Through the driving rain, the blinding fog, the dazzling lightning, the impenetrable mist, and the other atmospheric phenomena which Mr. Clark Russell had lent for the occasion, loomed a hideous dark object. I consulted the chart, the compass, the telescope, the ship’s biscuits, everything I could lay my hands on; but it was too late. Nearer and nearer it loomed. I could see that it was Silver Street Bridge, _and that it was coming my way_. Oh, the horror of it! I shrieked to it to save itself and go away. But my voice was drowned in the fury of the elements. It loomed nearer--it never stopped looming once--and I knew that I should be unable to avoid it, that I should destroy it. Bump! From the top of the bridge there came the voice of a small boy, asking if I was insured. He seemed hysterical, and fear had probably sapped his reason. I was swept on by the fury of the elements. No, I’ve just had that--swept on by the elemental fury--well, that’s much the same. At any rate, I was swept on. The wind whistled in the rigging, until it got sick of being conventional. Then it went and whistled in the taffrail. At last it got so nastily original that it sang “Since first I saw your Face” in the binnacle. A hasty glance backward showed me that Silver Street Bridge was yet standing. My resolution was also unshaken. The fierce old Berserker spirit fired my blood. Chanting aloud the grand old Latin hymn of the Crusaders-- A, ab, absque, coram, de, Palam, clam, cum, ex and e-- I dashed forward. My speed may be guessed from the fact that by this time I was under Queen’s Bridge. Before me, or close behind me, or at any rate on one side or the other, lowered in thick banks of cloud an angry sun, red as the blood of an orange that the thunder had pealed! The waves were mountain high. The light of the unbroken Viking was in my eyes. I could not see them, but I knew that it must be so. The waves were mounting higher now. Suddenly the wind shifted. It became semicircular, with a pendulum action. It swung my boat round to the left, then swung it round to the right. It kept on doing this. A horrible thought flashed across me that I should never make King’s Bridge at this rate. I said “Excelsior” to the boat to encourage it, but it only went on wagging. I smote it on the bows with the flat of my paddle, and that had no effect. Lastly, I raised myself about four inches, and sat down again with the energy and directness of the wild Norsemen. The jerk started it on again. We went so fast that a sparrow seemed to be literally flying past me. I believe that was what it actually _was_ doing. By this time the waves were quite extraordinary.