Somehow at the outset, the narrative had riveted the attention of Roy and Van Dusen. It was as if their intuitions warned them that something significant was to issue from the mariner's rambling remarks. The utterance of the yacht's name thrilled them both, and they stared at each other for a moment with startled eyes. Then they listened again with new intentness as the speaker continued his account: "It was just after daylight. I had been on the bridge all through the night, for I was anxious over our position, should the hurricane break with full force. I knew from the glass that it was close on us. I was looking dead ahead. Suddenly out of the mist appeared a craft as white and trim as a swan. She would plunge forward on a giant wave, then disappear for a moment in the trough, to appear again right side up, and coming at full speed to meet the next one. She was driving so fast that often she would force herself through, rather than over, the oncoming waves. I just naturally kept expecting from second to second that that fool skipper, sending her along at such reckless speed, would bury her so deep that it would be impossible for her to shake off the tons of brine, and so float on top again. If the fool only had sense enough to slow her down, I thought to myself, that bit of a craft would almost go through hell itself without a scorch. I realized that we were getting dangerously close, for I was going fast before the wind. So I quickly gave a passing-signal blast from our whistle, indicating that we would pass her on the port side. What do you suppose that fool at the wheel did then? Close as we were, and with no other reason that I could guess other than a desire to court death, he deliberately answered my signal with two blasts. They meant that he was going to starboard, almost diagonally across our bow. I saw it was too late to correct his error, so I simply had to accept his cross signal, and I did my best to avoid a collision. I was successful--no thanks to him. We missed _The Isabel_ by a hair. As it was, I thought that in spite of all we could do the suction from our propellers would draw in and crush the smaller boat against our side. I fancy we missed it more through good luck and the grace of God than through good management. And now what do you think? "That chap at the wheel, instead of appearing grateful and giving me three blasts in salute, stuck his head and shoulders out of the pilot-house window and shook his fist at me. He yelled, too, and the wind brought the words down to me. 'You're only a dirty tramp, but you think you own the seas!' You boys know that that word 'tramp' for a good honest trading steamer always did get on my nerves. I admit I swore a little at the bunglesome cuss, but he was well to windward, so I might just as well have saved my breath.