The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1907-05-16

tended, after gazing the beckett, to
make fast to 1t, so that he might not
risk losing the barrel when getting
it aboard.
A sudden sea hurled the dory back.
Dixon saw the cask shoot suddenly
from him. Leaning out over the
bow, he luDged at the beckett with
his gaff; but the unsteadiness of his
craft made him miss his aim. The
cask was rapidly receding. He threw
half his body over the gunwale for
another attempt. pressing his legs
against the sides of the bow. This
time he caught the loop fairly with
the iron hook at the extreme limit of
his reach. Just then another short,
quick sea struck the boat a violent
blow.
Dixon's toes clattered vainly along
the sloping planks as he attempted
to regain his equilibrium. The up
per part of his body end his right arm
were stretched far out over the water.
He dared not release the cask which
it had cost him so much hard labor
to gan; and of course he did not for
an instant dream of dropping the
painter. The dory shot from under
him, and he plunged overheard.
AS Dixon rose to the surface and
shook the water from his eyes, a big
comber broke over his head, burying
him once more. By the time he had
come up and caught his breath, the
dory. had been swept to leeward to
the full length of her painter.
With sailors instinct he had kent
tight grip on gaff and rope; but his
situation was both painful and dan
gerous.
His right hand grasped the wooden
handle of the gaff, which was hooked
about the buoy-becket; his left
clutched the painter, at which tugged
the heavily loaded sixteen-foot dory.
borne to leeward by gale and sea.
The barrel pulled one way and the
boat another. Wrench wrench! 1t
seemed enough to tear him asunder
when the big rollers came.
To save his dory he must draw up
the painter and make it fast to the
buoy. But how could he do this with
single arm. already weakened by
his long, hard pull to windward? His
hands were stretched so far apart
that he could not get them together.
unless he let go with one or the other:
and this he saw that he must do
sooner or later. Sheer exhaustion
would soon end his power of resist
ing the terrible strain.
Which hand should he relax? IT
was a desperate dilemma. To drop
the buoy and regain his boat, il that
were possible, meant going to lee
ward in the night and freezing
storm. To this there could be but
one ending. To release the painter
and cling to the barrel would pre-.
| serve his life, provided he could with
stand the buffeting of the fierce waves
through half-mile pull. He must
decide quickly, for the power of
choosing would soon be taken from
him.
A wise man does not waste his
strength fruitlessly. Dixon hated to
lose his dory and his twenty-dollar
cod. But what were these compared
with life? His choice once made, he
lost no time. He opened his left
hand; the painter jerked away. Back
shot the dory, tossing her bow, and
disappeared in the storm.
The fisherman grasped the gan
with both hands, and pulled himself
up to the barrel. 1t was now his
sole hope. He tried to raise himself
upon 1t, but the buoyant cask was
not large enough to support his
weight, and sank under water. FL,
nally he got it under his chest in such
a position that it kept his face well
above the surface.
1t was now almost dark. The snow
drove thickly into his eyes, and he
could see only few yards over the
tossing crests. How long would his
mates wait before hauling in the
buoy? Five hundred fathoms tC
windward in that shrieking gale, they
of course knew nothing of his mis-
hap, and would be sure to give hin
plenty of time to find the barrel. II,
hoped that they would not wait long
for in that icy sea a mans power O
endurance was limited.
The minutes dragged slowly on
Would they never begin to get tn,
buoy-line aboard? A dozen times h
} thought they had started pulling
but the wind and sea drove agains
him with such fury that it was impos
, sibie to be sure whether or not h
was moving toward the schooner
AT last steady succession OF abrup
snatches through the water told hi1
, mat they We're heaying In the line.
Gould he live and hold on Ion
t enough to be dragged three thousan
j feet through the freezing sea? Th
wave-crests broke above his hea,
: Now and then he was entirely sul
merged by some big fellow. Cruel
. bruised and strained by the erashin
I coWbers, he hugged the iron-boun
cask. knowing that that steady rhytl
: mical pull was every second bringin
/, him little nearer the vessel.
S Diyon's eyes We're spray-bllnde.
Q His bare head was crusted with briu
0 and sleet. Dazed by the ceaselel
v battering, he let go with one hand
the fingers of the others were loosei
v ing. Just In time his senses can
8 back. He regained his grip, and hel
+ on with clutch of death. once |,
S the barrel escape. his grasp, and
, | cOuld never he reRained