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Men, Women, and Boats by Stephen Crane
page 29 of 206 (14%)
ashore, I suppose you fellows know where to send news of my finish?"

They then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions. As for the
reflections of the men, there was a great deal of rage in them.
Perchance they might be formulated thus: "If I am going to be drowned--
if I am going to be drowned--if I am going to be drowned, why, in the
name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus
far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my
nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life? It
is preposterous. If this old ninny-woman, Fate, cannot do better than
this, she should be deprived of the management of men's fortunes. She is
an old hen who knows not her intention. If she has decided to drown me,
why did she not do it in the beginning and save me all this trouble? The
whole affair is absurd.... But no, she cannot mean to drown me. She dare
not drown me. She cannot drown me. Not after all this work." Afterward
the man might have had an impulse to shake his fist at the clouds: "Just
you drown me, now, and then hear what I call you!"

The billows that came at this time were more formidable. They seemed
always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a turmoil of
foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them. No
mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dingey could ascend
these sheer heights in time. The shore was still afar. The oiler was a
wily surfman. "Boys," he said swiftly, "she won't live three minutes
more, and we're too far out to swim. Shall I take her to sea again,
captain?"

"Yes! Go ahead!" said the captain.

This oiler, by a series of quick miracles, and fast and steady
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