Captain McAvoy of the tugboat Prudence stood in the pilothouse with one hand on the wheel. In the other he held a piece of biscuit he had just dipped into a cup of coffee that stood on the shelf beside the binnacle. He was a wellset man with bushy eyebrows and a bushy black mustache waxed at the tips. He was about to put the piece of coffeesoaked biscuit into his mouth when something black dropped and hit the water with a thudding splash a few yards off the bow. At the same moment a man leaning out of the engineroom door shouted, “A guy juss jumped offn de bridge.”
“God damn it to hell,” said Captain McAvoy dropping his piece of biscuit and spinning the wheel. The strong ebbtide whisked the boat round like a straw. Three bells jangled in
the engineroom. A negro ran forward to the bow with a boathook.
“Give a hand there Red,” shouted Captain McAvoy.
After a tussle they landed a long black limp thing on the deck. One bell. Two bells, Captain McAvoy frowning and haggard spun the tug’s nose into the current again.
“Any life in him Red?” he asked hoarsely. The negro’s face was green, his teeth were chattering.
“Naw sir,” said the redhaired man slowly. “His neck’s broke clear off.”
Captain McAvoy sucked a good half of his mustache into his mouth. “God damn it to hell,” he groaned. “A pretty thing to happen on a man’s wedding day.”