Let go! Now climb down, Galton, loose the
tackle and swing her in alongside the ladder."
When the cockneys obeyed, Madden ordered the whole crew into the small
boat. They climbed down the ladder one by one with a reluctance Madden
did not quite understand at the time.
Fifteen minutes later, the little boat, loaded down to her gunwales,
set out for the tug. Four oarsmen rowed, one man to the oar. The slow
clacking of shafts in tholes echoed sharply from the huge walls of the
dock as the dinghy drew away through the burning sunshine.
At some half-mile distance, the harsh outlines of the walls and pontoons
changed subtly into a great wine-red castle, that lay on a colorful
tapestry of seaweed, with a background of blue ocean and bronze sky.
As he drew away, Madden had a premonition that the dock was vanishing
out of his life and sight, that never again would he live in its great
walls. Like all crafts in this mysterious sea, it seemed completely
forsaken, deserted. With a shake of his shoulders he put the thought
from him and turned to face the future in the motionless tug that lay
ahead.
Half an hour later the dinghy drew alongside the silent _Vulcan_
and the crew clambered aboard. As they had suspected, there was no sign
of the tug's crew aboard.
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