The Democratic advocate., 1907-06-21

away. Then the barrel is cast over, and
drifts rapidly down before wind and sea,
until the imperiled fisher gaffs it aboard
and fastens it to his painter, when he is
pulled in, dory and all, by the strong arms
of his mates. 1t is not always easy for a
man to reach the barrel, even if he knows
that his life hangs in the balance.
Dixon soon realized that he was in for
the hardest pull he had ever had. His
dory rode deep with 800 pounds Of fine
cod. The furious wind buffeted the boat,
showering him with spray. A strong tide,
too, was running against him. Stout fish
erman though he was, he could never have
reached the schooner unaided. Indeed,
he almost began to fear that he might not
be able to get to the barrel.
Every little while he looked over his
shoulder to see if it was coming. Once or
twice he got glimpse of it, dancing cork
like on the pillows, drifting rapidly nearer.
The Lance had been entirely swallowed
up in the squalls This did not
trouble Dixon much, for his last glance
had discovered the barrel about 300 yards
away. When he looked again, however,
it was hidden behind wall of whirling
flakes
With aching arms and blistered hands
he bent now to his oars. His strength was
almost exhausted No man can hope to
win out against heavy gale. He was
making very little progress. He must find
the barrel in a few minutes, or his posi-
ton would be decidedly unpleasant. He
was beginning to fear that he had swerved
too far to the right or left, when to his
great joy backward look revealed the
bobbing cask just on the edge of his mar
row horizon about fifty feet ahead.
Dixon wasted no time in waiting for the
cask to drift down to him. He knew that
probably all its rope had been paid out,
and that he must pull up to it.
Never in his life did he row a harder
fifty feet. His muscles cracked, and the
blood spun from his nose as he forced the
heavy boat through the hostile seas. A
glance behind gave him fresh strength; his
goal was now only ten feet away.
He threw all his power into few mighty
strokes; and presently his heart was glad
dened by an irregular humping under the
gunwale of his dory, as the cask ranged
alongside. The battle had taken every
atom of his strength; he could not have
pulled five feet farther to windward. TAX
ing in his oars, he sprang forward, the gaff
in his right hand, and the painter END In
his left He intended, after gafing the
beckett, to make fast to it, 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 bow, he lunged
at the beckett with his gaff; but the un-
steadiness 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
violent blow.
Dixon's toes clattered vainly along the
sloping planks as he attempted to regain
his equilibrium. The upper part Of his
body and 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 gaff; and of course he did not
for an instant dream of dropping the pain
ter. The dory shot from under him, and
he plunged overheard.
As Dixon rose to the surface and shook
the water from his eyes, 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 kept
tight grip on gaff and rope; but his situa-
ton was both painful and dangerous.
His right hand grasped the wooden
handle Of the gaff, which was hooked about
the buoy-becket; his left clutched the pain
ter, 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 to-
gether, unless he let 60 with one or the
other; and this he saw that he must do
sooner or later. Sheer exhaustion would
soon end his power Of resisting the terrible
strain.
Which hand should he relax2 1t was
desperate dilemma. To drop the buoy
and regain his boat, if that were possible,
meant going to leeward in the night and
freezing storm. To this there could be but
one ending. To release the painter and
cling to the barrel would preserve his life,