Blow the Man Down - A Romance of the Coast

"There she comes, sir!" announced the mate. He pointed his finger at a

foaming upthrust of tossing water.

"Yes, sir! Eighteen knots and both eyes shut!" But there was relief

mingled with the resentment. His quick glance informed him that the

liner would pass the Nequasset well to starboard--her bow showed a

divergence of at least two points from the freighter's course. But the

next instant Captain Wass yelped a shout of angry alarm. "Yes, both eyes

shut!" he repeated.

Right in line with the liner's threshing bow was a fisherman's Hampton

boat, disclosed as the fog drifted.

The passenger-steamer gave forth a half-dozen "woofs" from her whistle,

answering the freighter's staccato warning, but gave no signs of

slowing. But that they were making an attempt to dodge the mite in their

path was made known by a shout from their lookout and his shrill call:

"Port! Hard over!"

The fisherman had all the alertness of his kind, trained by dangers and

ever-present prospect of mischance to grab at desperate measures.

He leaped forward and pulled out his mast and tossed mast and sail

overboard.

He knew that he must encounter the tremendous wash and wake of the

rushing hull. His shell of a boat, if made topheavy by the sail, would

stand small show.

"He's a goner!" gasped Captain Wass. "She's a-going to tramp him plumb

underfoot--unless she's going to get up a little more speed and jump

over him!" he added, moved to bitter sarcasm.

They saw the little boat go into eclipse behind the black prow, the

first lift of the churning waters flipping the cockleshell as a coin

is snapped by the thumb. The fisherman was not in view--he had thrown

himself flat in the bottom of his boat.

"He's under for keeps," stated the skipper, with conviction. "If her

bilge-keel doesn't cooper him, her port propeller will!"

So rapidly was the liner moving, so abrupt her swoop to the right, that

she leaned far over and showed them the red of her huge bilge. Her high

speed enabled her to make an especially quick turn. As they gaped,

her two stacks swung almost into line. Her shearing bow menaced the

Nequasset.

"The condemned old hellion is going to nail us, now!" bellowed Captain

Wass. In his panic and his fury he leaped up and down, pulling at the

whistle-cord.

She was almost upon them--only a few hundred yards of gray water

separated the two steamers.

She was the Triton!

Her name was disclosed on her bow. Her red hawse-holes showed like

glowering and savage eyes. There was indescribably brutal threat in this

sudden dart in their direction. It was as if a sea monster had swallowed

an insect in the shape of a Hampton boat and now sought a real mouthful.

But her great rudder swung to the quick pull of her steam steering-gear

and again she sheered, cutting a letter s. The movement brought her past

the stern of the Nequasset, a biscuit-toss away. The mighty surge of

her roaring passage lifted the freighter's bulk aft, and the huge wave

that was crowded between the two hulls crowned itself with frothing

white and slapped a good, generous ton of green water over the smaller

steamer's superstructure.