He had a searchlight but he did not attempt to use it, knowing
full well that in such a fog it would be of no avail. Guided,
therefore, by the bellowings of Mr. Gibney, reinforced by the
shrill yips of Captain Scraggs, the tug crept in closer and
closer, and when it seemed that they must be within a hundred
feet of the surf, Dan Hicks trained his Lyle gun in the direction
of Mr. Gibney's voice and shot a heaving line into the fog.
Almost simultaneous with the report of the gun came a shriek of
pain from Captain Scraggs. Straight and true the wet, heavy
knotted end of the heaving line came in over the _Maggie's_
quarter and struck him in the mouth. In the darkness he staggered
back from the stinging blow, clutched wildly at the air, slipped
and rolled over among the vegetables with the precious rope
clasped to his breast.
"I got it," he sputtered, "I got it, Gib."
"Safe, O!" Mr. Gibney bawled. "Pay out your hawser."
They met it at the taffrail as it came up out of the breakers,
wet but welcome. "Pass it around the mainmast, Scraggsy," Mr.
Gibney cautioned. "If we make fast to the towin' bits, the first
jerk'll pull the anchor bolts up through the deck.
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