Queer Luck: Poker Stories from the New York SunCurtis, David A.
General
Queer Luck: Poker Stories from the New York Sun
Curtis, David A.
Poker -- Fiction; Poker players -- Fiction; Short stories, American
“Naturally enough, the betting began furiously, and the chips on the
table were all in the pot presently. We were betting money and were,
some of us, feeling through our pockets for our rolls, when suddenly
the Commodore threw back his head and raised his hand with a sudden
gesture that arrested our attention instantly. Dropping his cards, he
sprang to his feet and started to rush out on deck, when a lurch of the
vessel sent us all sprawling. The squall had struck us. For a moment,
while we were scrambling up, we could feel the yacht tugging at her
anchor, and then with a sudden drive dash onward somewhere. Whither
we could not even guess, being all below, but we afterward found that
it was toward the northeast, the squall coming from the south-west.
Almost at the moment of the snapping of the cable, for it had snapped,
we heard a tremendous crash overhead, and we afterward learned that the
lurch of the boat had thrown her stick out of her.
“The sudden drive meant that we were drifting helplessly toward the mud
flats on the other side of the channel; but before we could ascertain
this--in fact, before any of us could get to the companion-way--the
wretched boat turned turtle. I have heard it denied that such a boat
could turn turtle under such circumstances, and I don’t pretend to
explain how or why it did. All I know is that it did, and it looked as
if we had reached our last quarter of an hour.
“The confusion was indescribable. Of course we were immediately
standing or scrambling on the ceiling of the little cabin, while
everything that had been on the floor fell with us. The water rushed
in more than waist deep, and for a few moments it looked as if the
little room would fill up completely before we could even think what
possibility there was of getting out. Fortunately, however, there was
buoyancy enough about the miserable craft, and the cabin was deep
enough in the hull, to keep it pretty near the water level, and the
air in the room was not immediately displaced. At least that was how
I reasoned it out. All that I can say positively is that whereas I
expected to be totally submerged I found that I could easily enough
keep my head out of water. What air there was in the cabin doubtless
helped to keep us afloat, confined as it was, and for a time--it seemed
a very long time--we were tossed about, splashed, and thrown down, as
the boat rocked and pitched, but we were not drowned.
“At first no one spoke. The situation was too awful for words, and it
seemed as if we were all so shocked as to be mentally stunned. I know I
was for one, and if our escape had depended on my thinking of a means
we would all have perished then and there. Fortunately the Commodore
grasped the situation, and, as we could talk and understand one another
well enough, he told us his plan in a few words. It was simple, and it
gave us at least a chance for life. Moreover, it appeared to be our
only chance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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