When his lungs seemed bursting with the labor, he whirled to the
surface again and drew another gasping breath. The storm had torn a
rift in the clouds and through it looked the moon as if some god were
peering through the curtain of mist to watch the havoc he was working.
By this light Harrigan saw that he was being drawn down in a narrowing
circle. Straight before him loomed a black fragment of the wreckage. He
tried to swing to one side, but the current of the water bore him on.
He received a heavy blow on the head and his senses went out like a
snuffed light.

When consciousness returned, there was a sharp pain in both head and
right shoulder, for it was on his shoulder that McTee had fastened his
grip. The captain sprawled on a great timber, clutching it with both
legs and one arm. With the free hand he held Harrigan. All this the
Irishman saw by the haggard moonlight. Then they were pitched high up
on the crest of a wave. As Harrigan grappled the timber with arms and
legs, it turned over and over and then pitched down through empty
space. The wind had literally cut away the top of the wave. He went
down, submerged, and then rose to a giddy height again. As he caught a
great breath of air, he saw that McTee was no longer on the timber.

A shout reached him, the sound being cut off in the middle by the noise
of the wind and waves. He saw McTee a dozen feet away, swimming
furiously. He came almost close enough to touch the timber with his
hands, and then a twist of the wave separated them. Harrigan worked
down the timber until he reached the end of the stanchion which was
nearest Black McTee. All that time the captain was struggling, but
could not draw closer. The wood was drifting before the wind faster
than he could swim.