blinding. No man of robust nature could feel alone amongst these raging elements that brought out his fighting qualities. He was battling for life now with a robust enemy that did not give his muscles time to relax, or his mind leisure to reflect, therefore he was once more the savage and wild boar Dennis.
He did Trojan work that night in the dark, hacking at the ropes and cordage in his way. He had no fear of falling beams or spars from above, for they were all overboard, and a grim joy possessed him as he cut strand after strand, while he went along first the one side and then the other feeling the hull lighten as the wreckage tore away.
He was bleeding and bruised by many a rebounding rope that whipped him across the face or chest as he released them so suddenly and sent them flying over the seething waters, but he did not feel this at the time, any more than a fighter feels the strokes when his blood is up. He was a powerful and brutal man fighting against Fate, and so far he conquered.
He felt that the hulk was at liberty with his last cut, for she raised herself out of the waves, held yet on her course by the flying canvas at her bows; these, like flags, streamed in front, yet helped to give her speed.
Then he went back to the wheel and remained there, sturdily turning the helm as best he could to avoid the heaviest onslaught from behind.
Slowly the hours of darkness passed, and still the vessel floated and drove on, although Dennis could feel that her hours were numbered, for she began to labour once more, and from her sludging motions he knew that her holds were filling up.
At last the welcome dawn broke, and the storm was almost past, but the George Washington was sinking
