"Nothin' doin'," he snarled. "She'll have to come to a complete
stop before she begins to walk backward and get steerage way on
again. She'll bump as sure as death an' taxes."

She did--with a crack that shook the rigging and caused it to
rattle like buckshot in a pan. A terrible cry--such a cry,
indeed, as might burst from the lips of a mother seeing her only
child run down by the Limited--burst from poor Captain Scraggs.
"My ship! my ship!" he howled. "My darling little _Maggie_!
They've killed you, they've killed you! The dirty lubbers!"

The succeeding wave lifted the _Maggie_ off the beach, carried
her in some fifty feet further, and deposited her gently on the
sand. She heeled over to port a little and rested there as if she
was very, very weary, nor could all the threshing of her screw in
reverse haul her off again. The surf, dashing in under her
fantail, had more power than McGuffey's engines, and, foot by
foot, the _Maggie_ proceeded to dig herself in. Mr. Gibney
listened for five minutes to the uproar that rose from the bowels
of the little steamer before he whistled up Mr. McGuffey.

"Kill her, kill her," he ordered. "Your wheel will bite into the
sand first thing you know, and tear the stern off her. You're
shakin' the old girl to pieces."




CHAPTER IV