In the course of a few minutes a small raft, bearing a heaving-line which the yachtsmen had streamed, drifted down upon the tug, clearing the bow by a few feet.  Dan leaned out and caught it with his boat-hook, bringing the line aboard.  Then he and his fireman tailed on to the end of it, bringing in the attached hawser hand over hand.  This they hurried to the stern bitts, taking a pass also around the steam winch.  Leaving the fireman to watch it, Dan dashed into the pilot-house and sounded the jingle-bell in the engine-room.

For a few minutes the churnings of the screw were discounted by the bulk of the yacht plus the elemental forces which sought to keep her head just where it was—­in the trough of the sea.  The tow-line vibrated itself into a blur, the tug strained and quivered and groaned.

“Why don’t you help us in some way, you fools!” roared Dan, struggling at the wheel.  “You can at least steer, or—­”

Before he could proceed there was a report like the bark of a cannon and a torn and shredded end of hawser came writhing and twisting up out of the sea, sluing across the face of the pilot-house as though possessed of all the venom of the living thing it resembled—­a python.

There was silence on both the tug and the yacht for a full minute.  Dan watched the distressed craft as she tossed up her bow and glided sternward from his view behind a jet of black wave, while the Fledgling seemed to slide from under his feet in the opposite direction.  As the yacht came up again he could see that this mishap had scattered all semblance of fortitude to the winds.  Except for the young second officer, Mr. Howland, and a sailor, all holding their places pluckily on the bridge, terror reigned.  Sailors, men in yachting costumes, and women with hair flying flashed along the decks or in and out of doorways, while forward a group of three young men lashed to a big anchor held out their hands toward the tug.

Dan turned to his deck-hand, his face hard and determined.

“Pete,” he said, “go down and get out the double cables.  Welch is astern and will help you.  I’m going to swerve the tug in close and you heave the lines aboard when we re near enough.  We won’t trust any more to their rotten hemp.”

As a knight, with reckless abandon, might have urged his steed into the very midst of his foes, so Dan urged the Fledgling up to the wildly pitching yacht.  Nearer the tug advanced, so near that the tugmen could see the streaks through the red underbody.  Nearer yet, head on, and then the wheel was swung broad, while Dan leaned out of the pilot-house, looking down at the two men forward, who were whirling weighted heaving-lines about their heads like lariats.  “Now, now then!” yelled Dan, as the mate in response to a wave of his hand began to sheer off from the yacht.  “Aye, aye,” came the replies from below, and a second later two lines whistled clean over the forward decks of the white craft.  Eager hands seized them and hauled in the great cables and made them fast.