“Eighteen fathom? Man, I think I hear it roar,” observed one. “I hear it, too. Is that the surf?” came from another. “‘Is that the surf?’ Who’s that damn fool? Oh, it’s the new man. Well, maybe you’re part way excusable. Yes, that’s the surf under your lee. If ’twas light you could see it break. But don’t mind that, boy-- I’ve heard it before and come away.” “Maybe you have,” commented one unthinkingly, “but there’s not been too many that’s been near enough to hear it and got home to tell about it--not too many.” “For God’s sake, choke that croaker, somebody! And drive her, fellows--no time to lose now.” The Skipper was all over her deck. “And stand by with the axe, you Fred, so when we have to, and I give the word, cut and we’ll run for it.” “I s’pose she couldn’t stand the mains’l, Skipper?” “No, John, she couldn’t--not this old hooker in this breeze. Just the extra weight of that boom outward now and over she’d flop, sure as fate. She’s thirty year old, this one. Lord, if ’twas only the _Katie_, wouldn’t we go skippin’ out of here! But go aloft again, John.” In the whirl and thickness of snow they tried to follow John as he climbed the rigging, swinging and clinging, fighting his way up. John’s voice, but too muffled to be understood, came down to them. One man jumped into the rigging and passed the word along. “He says a ridin’ light to wind’ard--two of em.” “To anchor are they? Make sure.” An exchange of words above. “John says he thinks one of ’em’s driftin’--only her ridin’ light shows, but the other’s just showed a side-light--her port light.” “Port light? That’s bad for us. Look sharp to the wheel. And for’ard, who’s got the axe--you, Fred? Well, get up the other axe and stand by with it you, Tim. Slash to it, both of you, when I give the word. Can you hear me?” “Yes, sir.” He stepped back to the break and tried to catch John’s voice for himself. Not getting it easily, he jumped into the rigging. “What’s that last--of that one sailin’----” “Another vessel driftin’ down--and another--two draggin’ and two sailin’, but not makin’ much headway. An awful wind aloft, Skipper.” “Aye, John--and below, too. But what’s that? Hell!” He dropped to deck and leaped to the wheel. He was just in time to dodge the side-sweep of a vessel’s bowsprit as she swirled by his quarter. Another moment and it caught the stern davits, the dory slung up to them, and then the end of the _Pantheon’s_ main boom. Cr-s-sh!--cr-s-sh! The bowsprit of the stranger cracked sharp off, the _Pantheon’s_ dory went to kindlings, and her boom smashed at the slings. “Hi-i! you blasted loon, where you goin’?” “Hi-i!” came back a yet hoarser voice--“couldn’t help it--parted both cables.” “That’s bad----” “Yes--good-by.” Dannie fanned the snow from his eyes. “If that ain’t hell--talkin’ to men you can’t see and they driftin’ away to be lost! And the dory gone, though it’s more than a dory we’ll need to-night.” “Oh, Skipper!” came from aloft again.