“For a moment tug and ship hung motionless in a crowd of moving shipping, and then the terrific strain that evil, stony-hearted brute would always put on everything, tore the towing-chock clean out.  The tow-rope surged over, snapping the iron stanchions of the head-rail one after another as if they had been sticks of sealing-wax.  It was only then I noticed that in order to have a better view over our heads, Maggie had stepped upon the port anchor as it lay flat on the forecastle deck.

“It had been lowered properly into its hardwood beds, but there had been no time to take a turn with it.  Anyway, it was quite secure as it was, for going into dock; but I could see directly that the tow-rope would sweep under the fluke in another second.  My heart flew up right into my throat, but not before I had time to yell out:  ’Jump clear of that anchor!’

“But I hadn’t time to shriek out her name.  I don’t suppose she heard me at all.  The first touch of the hawser against the fluke threw her down; she was up on her feet again quick as lightning, but she was up on the wrong side.  I heard a horrid, scraping sound, and then that anchor, tipping over, rose up like something alive; its great, rough iron arm caught Maggie round the waist, seemed to clasp her close with a dreadful hug, and flung itself with her over and down in a terrific clang of iron, followed by heavy ringing blows that shook the ship from stem to stern—­because the ring stopper held!”

“How horrible!” I exclaimed.

“I used to dream for years afterwards of anchors catching hold of girls,” said the man in tweeds, a little wildly.  He shuddered.  “With a most pitiful howl Charley was over after her almost on the instant.  But, Lord! he didn’t see as much as a gleam of her red tam o’ shanter in the water.  Nothing! nothing whatever!  In a moment there were half-a-dozen boats around us, and he got pulled into one.  I, with the boatswain and the carpenter, let go the other anchor in a hurry and brought the ship up somehow.  The pilot had gone silly.  He walked up and down the forecastle head wringing his hands and muttering to himself:  ’Killing women, now!  Killing women, now!’ Not another word could you get out of him.

“Dusk fell, then a night black as pitch; and peering upon the river I heard a low, mournful hail, ‘Ship, ahoy!’ Two Gravesend watermen came alongside.  They had a lantern in their wherry, and looked up the ship’s side, holding on to the ladder without a word.  I saw in the patch of light a lot of loose, fair hair down there.”

He shuddered again.

“After the tide turned poor Maggie’s body had floated clear of one of them big mooring buoys,” he explained.  “I crept aft, feeling half-dead, and managed to send a rocket up—­to let the other searchers know, on the river.  And then I slunk away forward like a cur, and spent the night sitting on the heel of the bowsprit so as to be as far as possible out of Charley’s way.”