In the barn beside the ranch, the tractor and harvester gathered cobwebs. The old Bellamy farm was merely his retirement home, where he hid more or le...s comfortably from the world and its reminders of his failures. Allan didn’t bother much about the field or the barn. When the mood struck him to be outside, he invariably went to sit on the front porch. Traffic on NY 231 was too sparse to annoy him, and the Compton farm across the way was as idle as his own. That morning, he’d been sitting on. We'd fouled the craft's short conning tower. I could see a hoisting eye about four feet under the surface. I took one rope in my hand, pushed down until I could get the toe of my boot into the eye and pulled myself under. I quickly made the rope fast and bobbed back up to the surface. I held up an arm with one thumb straight up to let Charlie know I was OK. Next came the tricky bit--unfouling the hatch and tower. I had it done in about half an hour, by which time I was ready to rest for a. More

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