The Greater Power by Harold Bindloss — Read

There was not a breath of wind, and the night was soft and warm, when Nasmyth lay stretched upon the _Tillicum's_ deck, with his shoulder against the saloon skylights and a pipe in his hand. The little steamer lay with her anchor down under a long forest-shadowed point, behind which a half-moon hung close above the great black pines. Some distance astern of her, a schooner lay waiting for a wind with the loose folds of her big mainsail flapping black athwart the silvery light, and her blinking anchor-light flung a faint track of brightness across the sliding tide. There was only the soft lap of the water along the steamer's side and the splash of the little swell upon the beach to break the stillness, for the sea was smooth as oil.

The _Tillicum_ would not have compared favourably with an English steam-yacht. She had been built for the useful purpose of towing saw-logs, and was sold cheap when, as the mill she kept supplied grew larger, she proved too small for it. Acton, however, was by no means a fastidious person, and when he had fitted her with a little saloon, and made a few primitive alterations below, he said she was quite good enough for him. For that matter, anyone fond of it might navigate the land-locked waters of Puget Sound and the Straits of Georgia in an open whaleboat with satisfaction in summer-time. There are islands everywhere, wonderful rock-walled inlets that one can sail into, beaches to which the primeval forest comes rolling down, and always above the blue waters tower tremendous ramparts of never-melting snow.