It was heavy work, even for two men, on the tumbling, slippery deck,
and, that done, they turned, anxiously, to see how the man in the stern
of the tug was making out. He was there, back to, bending the thick
stubborn bight about the towing bitts with slow, heavy motions. They saw
one great sea break over him; and another: but when the seas were past
there he was still working away.

"Won't he never mak' him fast?" wailed Nelson.

"Give him time," snapped Bowen. "He's doing well. He's got to do it
right. If his end came loose, where would we be? Give him time."

Nelson looked significantly shoreward. "Time?"

"How's she coming, Bud?" they heard then.

"Bud? And that sounds like his voice, too," muttered Bowen.

"Wa-atch out!" Even with the roar of it Nelson and Bowen could hear the
warning from the pilot-house to the man in the stern of the tug. A
tremendous sea it was and the little _Whist_ went over--over. Over until
her side-lights were under. There she held for a moment, started to
rise, and then a following sea caught her and overbore her and that time
she rolled low enough to take salt water down her funnel.

She came back--after a time. Up, up, nobly; but when they next looked
from the light-ship they could see no figure in her stern. Bowen leaned
far over the light-ship's rail. Nothing there, but he called to Nelson
for the torch, and Nelson let it flare out over the water.

Then Bowen saw him. Almost under the bow of the light-ship he was, and
the big torch was throwing a light like blood on his face. "It is him!"
cried Bowen.

"Vat iss?" demanded the puzzled Nelson, and then under the light he,
too, saw the face in the tossing waters.

Bowen, with a life-line under his arms was already over the side. But
his plunge fell short. Nelson heard a sound as of a man's voice
smothering, saw a hand raised and lowered, and then into the tossing
blackness the lone figure was swept.

Nelson hauled Bowen aboard. When he recovered his first word was, "God,
Nelson, that was Harty!"

"Harty, wass it? I don't know him, but he was one goot man."

The big hawser strained and groaned, chocks and bitts crooned their song
of stress, the wind whistled its dirge, while out from the breakers the
_Whist_ hauled her tow.

To the wheel of the tug Baldwin glanced ahead and behind, pointed her
nose for the breakwater, gave her four bells and the jingle, put his
mouth to the tube, and answered, "Yes, Pete, that's right--'twa