y for the new one myself." Even at that we had to
crawl out on the bowsprit--six or eight of us--with sharp knives, and
cut it away, and we were glad to get back again. The Johnnie never
slackened. It was desperate work.

Rounding Minot's, Tom O'Donnell gave an exhibition of desperate
seamanship. He had made up his mind, it seems, that he was due to pass
Wesley Marrs along here. But first he had to get by the Withrow. Off
Minot's was the turning buoy, with just room, as it was considered,
for one vessel at a time to pass safely in that sea.

O'Donnell figured that the tide being high there was easily room for
two, and then breasted up to the Withrow, outside of her and with the
rocks just under his quarter. Hollis, seeing him come, made a motion
as if to force him on the rocks, but O'Donnell, standing to his own
wheel, called out--"You do, Sam Hollis, and we'll both go." There
certainly would have been a collision, with both vessels and both
crews--fifty men--very likely lost, but Hollis weakened and kept off.
That kind of work was too strong for him. He had so little room that
his main-boom hit the can-buoy as he swept by.

Once well around O'Donnell, in great humor, and courting death, worked
by Hollis and then, making ready to tack and pass Wesley's bow, let
the Colleen have her swing, but with all that sail on and in that
breeze, there could be only one outcome. And yet he might have got
away with it but for his new foremast, which, as he had feared, had
not the strength it should have had. He let her go, never stopped to
haul in his sheets--he had not time to if he was to cross Wesley's
bow. So he swung her and the full force of the wind getting her laid
both spars over the side--first one and then the other clean as could
be.

Hollis never stopped or made a motion to help, but kept on after the
Lucy Foster. We almost ran over O'Donnell, but luffed in time, and the
skipper called out to O'Donnell that we'd stand by and take his men
off.

O'Donnell was swearing everything blue. "Go on--go on--don't mind me.
Go on, I tell you. We're all right. I'll have her under jury rig and
be home for supper. Go on, Maurice--go on and beat that divil
Hollis!"

Half way to Eastern Point on the way back saw us in the wake of the
Withrow, which was then almost up with the Lucy Foster. It was the
beat home now, with all of us looking to see the Withrow do great
things, for just off the ways and with all her ballast in she was