Summary

Portrait of Samuel Adams Drake Samuel Adams Drake The Young Vigilantes: A Story of California Life in the Fifties

Before one could count ten, the boat was again manned and clear of the ship. How well I recall the bent figure of the first officer as he stood in the stern-sheets, with the tiller-ropes in his hand, peering off into the fog! I can still see the men springing like tigers to their work again, and the cutter tossing on the seething brine astern like a chip. Then the fog shut them from our view. But nevermore was that voice heard on land or sea. No doubt it was the last agonized shriek of returning consciousness as the ocean closed over Yankee Jim's head.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Samuel Adams Drake Samuel Adams Drake The Young Vigilantes: A Story of California Life in the Fifties

A stiff southeaster was blowing when the steamer thrust her black nose outside of Sandy Hook. And as the hours wore on, and the gale rose higher and higher, with every lurch the straining ship would moan and tremble like a human being in distress. Now and then a big sea would strike the ship fairly, sending crockery and glassware flying about the cabin with a crash, then as she settled down into the trough, for one breathless moment it would seem as if she would never come up again. Twenty times that night the affrighted passengers gave themselves up for lost.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Samuel Adams Drake Samuel Adams Drake The Young Vigilantes: A Story of California Life in the Fifties

He found the plaza already black with people. Beyond him, above the heads of the crowd, he saw a glittering line of bayonets; nearer at hand men were pouring out of a building at the right, with muskets in their hands. Walter stood on tiptoe. Some one was speaking to the crowd from an open window fronting the plaza, but Walter was too far off to catch a single word. The vast throng was as still as death.
Source: Gutenberg

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