File:Outing (1885) (14782050622).jpg

Identifier: outing51newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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e thebow of the dory clean under, and the oldman was thrown against the bottom boards.Frantically recovering himself he strove toease the perilous strain by snubbing theline and paying it out until at last the doryvery sluggishly rounded to and plunged atthe end of the tether which moored her tothe whistling buoy. It couldnt happen again in a thousandyears, my ketchin the cage that way,faltered the exhausted man who laydoubled across a thwart. But I mightknow that old Jack wouldnt go back onme in a tight pinch like this. I wish Iknew where were driftin to. The buoy flung a mocking bellow intothe night and Abel Grant raised his fog-horn which weakly echoed a quaveringcontradiction. The buoy was telling sea-farers that hither lay deep water and safepassage. It was a tragic lie and the bat-tered fog-horn sought to send the truthabroad. The dory swam so low becauseof the weight of water in her that the fisher-man knew she must founder before long,nor could he spare the time or strength to
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The Whistling Buoy 269 try to bale her. He was able, after cruelexertion, to haul her, hand over hand,close into the buoy, but there was noclimbing or clinging to that slippery slope. The struggle between the man and thebuoy had become pitifully one-sided. Asthe wind piled up the sea with increasingweight, the tossing buoy shouted its falsetidings with more infernal resonance. Asthe man became weaker the voice of thefog-horn carried a feebler message. Thedory was almost awash and the curlingwater that broke over her sides benumbedand strangled the old man, and its icy chillstabbed his overtaxed heart. He foughta strange giddiness, and felt his strengthgo from him so that he was unable anylonger to grip the thwart when a hungrysea broke over the gunwale like a topplingwall. There was a last, despairing wailfrom the fog-horn, and Abel Grant fell facedownward in the bottom of the water-logged dory. A few moments earlier than this, a gray-bearded man on the deck of a plungingschooner yell

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