“Henry!” called the Skipper. “Henry Norton!”
No answer. And again no answer.
“I cal’late he’s gone, Skipper.”
“And his folks, Skipper—he’s the third of his family been lost out here.”
“And there’ll be more before the night’s over,” muttered one at the Skipper’s elbow.
“Maybe there will,” snapped the Skipper, “but in God’s name wait till it happens. Below there— Oh, cook, hand up a torch, and let’s see what’s to be done.”
“Chain parted, Skipper.”
“Well, it don’t take any magician to see that. But let’s see what else.”
The chain, before parting, had torn through her iron-bound hawser hole, and three of the stout stanchions had gone as if they were cardboard.