Explore "Caleb West" by Francis Hopkinson Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The purple twilight had already settled over Medford harbor when the yacht with Captain Joe and Caleb on board glided beneath the wrecked trestle with its toppling cars, and made fast to one of the outlying spiles of the draw. As the yacht's stern swung in toward the sunken caboose which coffined the bodies of the drowned men, a small boat put off from the shore and Sanford sprang aboard. He had succeeded in persuading the section boss in charge of the wrecking gang to delay wrecking operations until Caleb could get the bodies, insisting that it was inhuman to disturb the wreck until they were recovered. As the yacht was expected every moment and the services of the diver would be free, the argument carried weight.
"Everything is ready, sir," said Captain Joe, as Sanford walked aft to meet him. "We've 'iled up the cylinders, an' the pump can git to work in a minute. I'll tend Caleb; I know how he likes his air. Come, Caleb, git inter yer dress; this tide's on the turn."