One moment the whole of her deck was
visible as she was borne with the wave; the next her bow alone
showed high as the back suction caught her and dragged her from the
crest into the hollow. A sea rose behind. Nothing of the tug was
to be seen. It seemed that no power or skill could prevent her
feeling overwhelmed. Yet somehow always she staggered out of the
gulf until she caught the force of the billow and was again cast
forward like a chip.
"Maybe they ain't catchin' p'ticular hell at that wheel to hold her
from yawing!" muttered the tug captain to his neighbour, who
happened to be Mr. Duncan, the minister.
Almost before Carroll had time to see that the little craft was
coming in, she had arrived at the outer line of breakers. Here the
combers, dragged by the bar underneath, crested, curled over, and
fell with a roar, just as in milder weather the surf breaks on the
beach. When the SPRITE rushed at this outer line of white-water, a
woman in the crowd screamed.
But at the edge of destruction the SPRITE came to a shuddering stop.
Her powerful propellers had been set to the reverse. They could not
hold her against the forward fling of the water, but what she lost
thus she regained on the seaward slopes of the waves and in their
hollows.
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