"No—tow us in. I guess—the leak will stop—in quiet water"
Whether it was judgment or prescience, Captain Bradley's surmise proved correct. As they towed up the bay, pumping continually, the water in the hold at first remained for a while at a constant level, then began slowly to fall, enough to show that they were gaining on the leak.
Below the Narrows, the tugboat dropped astern, ranging up on the Viking's quarter.
"Well, old man, where have you decided to go?"
Captain Bradley stood in the starboard alley-way, one hand grasping the rail, the other the corner of the after house. It was the only way that he could hold himself upright. In the last half hour the pain had returned with fresh violence. Since its return, he had known what he would have to do. The ship was all right now; but, for him, little time remained.
"Anchor us—at Tompkinsville—close inshore. Send word to my office. Get some men—my crew are—worn out. Bring off a doctor—for God's sake!..." The strained voice broke in a shrill cry.
The mate ran aft along the alley-way. "Captain!—what's the matter, sir?"
"Sick" Captain Bradley's hand flew to his breast, clutching his coat in a great handful. His face turned deathly white, his eyes closed, his mouth twisted in the intensity of the pain. For an instant he swayed; then opened his eyes again, and pulled himself upright against the rail.
"I brought her in!" he cried loudly "My old ship ... under sail"
The mate was just in time to catch him as he pitched forward insensible.