darkness and the gale. The engine stops. The steamer falls into the
trough of the sea.

The Africa carries two yawls attached to her davits. Corkey is feeling
about one of these yawls. He suspects that the lines are old. He
steps to the other side. He strains at a rope. He strives to unloose
it from its cleat. The line is stiff and almost frozen.

"I'd be afraid to lower myself, anyhow," he observes, for he has the
notion that everything about the Africa is insecure.

The ship gives another lurch. Something must be done. Almost before
he knows it, Corkey has cut loose the stern. The rope seems strong.

Now he must unwind the bow line from its cleat, or he will lose his
boat. He kicks at the cleat. He loosens a loop. He raises the boat
and then lowers it. The tackle works.

The other yawl and its tackle roll and creak in the gale. Nobody else
comes up the ladders.

The man aloft pulls his line out and fastens it to the cleat which he
tried to kick off. He seizes the stern of the yawl and hoists it far
over the upper deck. The yawl falls outside the gunwale below, with a
great crash and splintering of oars.

"She's there!" says Corkey, feeling the taut line. "She's there, and
the rope is good. The davit is good."

The people below seem to know that a boat is being put out. But Corkey