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Streeter, John Williams

"The Fat of the Land The Story of an American Farm"

When the bow fell, I crouched under the
bulwark and let the sea comb over me. How long I remained at this weird
post, I do not know; but I was driven from it in such terror as I hope
never to feel again.
An unusually large wave carried me nearer the sky than I liked to be,
and just as the sharp bow of the great iron ship was balancing on its
crest for the desperate plunge, a glare of lightning made sky and sea
like a sheet of flame and curdled the blood in my veins. In the trough
of the sea, under the very foot of the immense steamship, lay a delicate
pleasure-boat, with its mast broken flush with its deck, and its
helpless body the sport of the cruel waves.
The light did not last longer than it would take me to count five, but
in that time I saw four figures that will always haunt me. Two sailors
in yachting costume were struggling hopelessly with the tiller, and the
wild terror of their faces as they saw the huge destruction that hung
over them is simply unforgettable.
The other two were different. A strong, blond man, young, handsome, and
brave I know, stood bareheaded in front of the cockpit.


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