"Helluva storm, Joe," I say.

"Ayup," he says shakily, gazing out into the fog. His uniform is wet through and he's a-startin' to tremble. It won't be long before he can't hold on to the beam no more.

"Shore wish you ain't cut the riggin' there, Bob," says Dave. He's on the end, Dave is, hangin' tight to the canvas. A good gust o' wind gonna sweep him away.

"Oh yeah, everythin' be my fault," I complain. How was I to know? You tell me that. How was I to know the riggin' be the on'y way down?

"Too bad ain't no one left on the boat climb up and save us," Jake mopes, lookin' mournfully down at the deck.

"I reckon one o' us oughtta staid behind," Joe stammers out.

"Can't fer the life o' me figger out why you done it, there Bob."

"Ya know, neither can I," I say regretfully.