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a haven from the rising storm, but not at the cost of having to fight his way out. |
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"Let me send a man of mine up to look out too," he bellowed into the captain's ear. "Two sets of eyes are better than one. And give me leave to take the sweep." |
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Swift agreement was obtained. One of Beorn's fishermen scurried up to join the sailor while Beorn went to lay his powerful hand to the steering sweep. The sailor lookout was singing out the direction of the beacon steadily and they were keeping a true line, but the captain kept glancing unhappily at the racing whitecaps. In spite of the shortened sail they were driving fast, very fast. |
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Suddenly, the lookout's voice stopped. Beorn's knuckles whitened as he gripped the sweep harder. Then the call came down again, "Dead ahead. Dead ahead." Beorn let his breath trickle out. The relief had no time to take hold upon him, luckily. Simultaneously, before he could relax, the fisherman screamed, "Wreckers! Wreckers!" and the sailor shouted, "Come about hard! Come about!" |
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Beorn lay over the steering sweep, bracing his legs against the ship's side. The trunk-thick shaft kicked so hard that he gasped with pain. The captain screamed orders, himself leaping to add his strength to Beorn's to hold the sweep. The ship heeled over. From the prow came shrieks of terror from the women. In the belly the horses whinnied and the men moaned. Water slapped over the rowers who plied their oars with a steady desperation. Slowly and painfully the ship turned aside from the land, righted herself. |
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"We cannot leave," the captain shouted. "We must stay and see if we can help." |
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Beorn did not need further argument. He knew what the fisherman meant when he screamed, "Wreckers!" The beacon fire had not been set in a safe harbor but in a place where a ship would drive upon the rocks and founder. Then the fiends who battened on |
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