“Don’t you think you could keep some of your men aboard pumpin’ her out and take a line from me so I can tow you in? This steamer of mine could walk you home at a six-knot clip, deep as you are. It’d mean a lot of money to me. What d’y’ say?”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t stay aboard her another hour, let alone the men, for millions. You haven’t any notion of how things are aboard of her. Everything wet down below, grub and bedding both, and solid ice, man, from rail to rail—likely to go down under our feet any minute. And here’s some of these men half wild with suffering. Take us off, and do what you please with her afterward. For all I care she’s yours—she’s anybody’s that’ll take us off.”
“Blest if I don’t try and take them off just the same.” Dixey waved to his mate to unlash the boat.
The deck-hands of the Ice King seldom had occasion to launch a boat, and now they made a mess of it. When they should have fended the boat off, they allowed the sea to bear it in. Against the side of the towboat it came crashing.
Dixey swore blue oaths from the pilot-house. “What in the name of Beelzebub you tryin’ to do? Stove in, is she?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the mate.
“Bad?”
“So bad that I wouldn’t want to ask any men to go in her—and the men don’t want to go, either.”
“That so? A fine lot of able seamen! Well, they’ll have to take a line—” He hailed the bark. “We can’t help you unless you’ll take a line and let us tow you.”
“What’s the matter with your other boat?”