"True for you. This is all a graveyard of ships and there's been
many a good master's license lost because of half-baked laws from
Washington. Think of a coast like this with almost no lights, no
beacons nor buoys; and yet we're supposed to make time. It's fine
in clear weather, but in the dark we go by guess and by God. I've
stood the run longer than most of the skippers, but--"

Even as Brennan spoke the Nebraska seemed to halt, to jerk
backward under his feet. O'Neil, who was standing, flung out an
arm to steady himself; the empty ginger-ale bottle fell from the
sideboard with a thump. Loose articles hanging against the side
walls swung to and fro; the heavy draperies over Captain Johnny's
bed swayed.

Brennan leaped from his chair; his ruddy face was mottled, his
eyes were wide and horror-stricken.

"Damnation!" he gasped. The cabin door crashed open ahead of him
and he was on the bridge, with O'Neil at his heels. They saw the
first officer clinging limply to the rail; from the pilot-house
window came an excited burst of Norwegian, then out of the door
rushed a quartermaster.

Brennan cursed, and met the fellow with a blow which drove him
sprawling back.

"Get in there, Swan," he bellowed, "and take your wheel."

"The tide swung her in!" exclaimed the mate. "The tide--My God!"