Bruce without looking around fumbled with the companion slide, and ducking down between two waves, pulled it shut after him. After he had disappeared, and the schooner was running more easily on the long northwest tack that was to take her to the Liddington harbor, Hunch slowly got his bearings, and for a long time he stood pouring out a flood of profanity. This outburst came too late for Bruce's ears, but not too late to act as a safety-valve to Hunch's temper. Then he took a drink.
He stood at the wheel all day and all night. At noon and at dusk he sent Billy below to get up a rough meal, which he ate with one hand, washing it down with the whiskey. At about nine o'clock, he called Billy back, and told him to turn in. And when the dawn broke, and the bleak sand hills of Michigan stretched out on the horizon, he was still at the wheel, but his eyes were dimmer and his knees were weaker. Hunch was drunk. He was quiet for the time, and he handled the schooner as she had never been handled before, but the fact remained. Bruce had not appeared at all. He was curled up in his bunk, waiting for the end, when the madman at the wheel should reach the sleepy stage.
Once or twice in the night, when the schooner was careering through some especially hard blow, Bruce cried a little, like a girl, at the thought of the wedding that might not be. He did not know that at this time it was the thought of two blue eyes smiling at him, and of two lips pressed to his cheek, that raised Hunch above the grasp of the whiskey.
The morning had gone before they were within reach of the Liddington harbor. They passed the breakwaters three times at noon and after, each time a mile nearer than before. The wind had swung around during the night closer to the south. Hunch was beating in from the northeast, evidently planning to get close enough to run in during a lull. The box of a lighthouse on the south breakwater grew larger. After a time, Billy, who was forward, could see three white figures on the other breakwater, waving their arms. He knew that they were members of the life-saving crew, warning them not to make the attempt.
Hunch took a look about the boat and up through the rigging. The schooner was badly wrenched and strained, but was apparently good for another effort. He looked over the long reach of breakers, sweeping up on a slant from the south. He took a drink and called to Billy.
“Come back here! Tell him to come up on deck.” His manner was heavy and surly.
Bruce came up with a white face and rings under his eyes.
“Sit down there,” growled Hunch, pointing to the low roof of the cabin. “You too,” to Billy.
When they were seated facing him, holding on to each other and to the gangway slide, Hunch said: “D' y' know where you're goin'? You're goin' to my weddin'. Bruce, he gets er girl, I get's er weddin'-un'erstan'? Sit up straight there—like er gen'leman. You think we're goin' to er weddin'? Mebbe we ain't. Mebbe we're goin' to hell. Why don't you laugh? This's our weddin' day.” His mood suddenly changed and he paid no attention to them, giving all his energy to the handling of the schooner. Then he motioned to Billy to go forward. For a long time there was silence, excepting that Hunch occasionally muttered, “We'll get back. I tol' her we'd get back.” Bruce sat terrified on the cabin, facing the stem, not seeing where the schooner was going. After a while he could stand it no longer. He looked over his shoulder. They were close to the breakwaters now, and a little to the south. The three life-saving men were running back along the breakwater, evidently in order to be ready at the station if the schooner should miss the channel. Then he heard Hunch say, “Turn round there!” Hunch had his revolver out and was pointing it at him with a grin. Bruce sat still, for Hunch was careless when he was drunk. Hunch kept it in his hand, and looked at Bruce from time to time with a cunning expression.
The schooner came bounding up from the south, running nearly before the wind. Hunch knew what to allow for wind, waves, and currents. Suddenly he shouted to Billy and jammed the wheel over hard. With Billy at the sheets, the bow came slowly about and headed direct for the lighthouse. Billy quaked. But as she ploughed forward she fell off to the leeward under the sweep of the waves, and slipped neatly between the breakwaters and into the more quiet water of the channel. The lee rail scraped a little, but nothing was started.