home on her painter and down with a crash on the yacht's weather
quarter. I stuck out one hand to ward it off and got it nipped on the
gunwale. She was badly stove in and useless, so I couldn't run out
the kedge'--this was Greek to me, but I let him go on--'and for the
present my hand was too painful even to stow the boom and sails,
which were. whipping and racketing about anyhow. There was the
rudder, too, to be mended; and we were several miles from the nearest
land. Of course, if the wind fell, it was all easy enough; but if it
held or increased it was a poor look-out. There's a limit to strain
of that sort--and other things might have happened.

'In fact, it was precious lucky that Bartels turned up. His galliot
was at anchor a mile away, up a branch of the channel. In a clear
between squalls he saw us, and, like a brick, rowed his boat out--he
and his boy, and a devil of a pull they must have had. I was glad
enough to see them--no, that's not true; I was in such a fury of
disgust and shame that I believe I should have been idiot enough to
say I didn't want help, if he hadn't just nipped on board and started
work. He's a terror to work, that little mouse of a chap. In half an
hour he had stowed the sails, unshackled the big anchor, run out
fifty fathoms of warp, and hauled her off there and then into deep
water. Then they towed her up the channel--it was dead to leeward and
an easy job--and berthed her near their own vessel. It was dark by
that time, so I gave them a drink, and said good-night. It blew a
howling gale that night, but the place was safe enough, with good
ground-tackle.

'The whole affair was over; and after supper I thought hard about it
all.'