Brandon of the Engineers

"But we can't drive the launch hard. The breeze is knocking up the sea."

"We'll try," Dick answered, and Jake growled in protest. His dream of

rest and sleep, and perhaps some mildly exciting adventure when the

citizens came out in the cool of the evening, had been rudely banished.

Moreover, he had had another reason for being philosophical when he

thought his comrade baulked.

"It's a fool trick. She won't make it if the sea gets bad."

Dick smiled dryly. "We can turn back if we find her getting swamped. It

looks as if you were not very anxious to overtake Kenwardine."

"I'm not," Jake admitted. "If you're determined to go, I'm coming, but

I'd be glad of a good excuse for letting the matter drop."

Somewhat to his surprise, Dick gave him a sympathetic nod. "I know; I've

felt like that, but the thing can't be dropped. It's a hateful job, but

it must be finished now."

"Very well," Jake answered, getting up. "If we must go, the sooner we

start the better."

The launch looked very small and dirty when they looked down on her from

the wharf, and Jake noted how the surf broke upon the end of the

sheltering point. Its deep throbbing roar warned him what they might

expect when they reached open water, but he went down the steps and

helped Dick to tighten some bearing brasses, after which a peon threw

down their ropes and the screw began to rattle. With a few puffs of steam

from her funnel the launch moved away and presently met the broken swell

at the harbor mouth. Then her easy motion changed to a drunken lurch and

Jake gazed with misgivings at the white-topped seas ahead.

She went through the first comber's crest with her forefoot in the air

and the foam washing deep along the tilted deck, while the counter

vanished in a white upheaval. Then it swung up in turn, and frames and

planking shook as the engine ran away. This happened at short intervals

as she fought her way to windward in erratic jerks, while showers of

spray and cinders blew aft into the face of her crew.

Dick drove her out until the sea got longer and more regular, when he

turned and followed the coast, but the flashing blue and white rollers

were now on her beam and flung her to lee as they passed. Sometimes one

washed across her low counter, and sometimes her forward half was buried

in a tumultuous rush of foam. The pump was soon started and they kept it

going, but the water gathered in the crank-pit, where it was churned into

lather, and Jake and Maccario relieved each other at helping the pump

with a bucket. They were drenched and half blinded by the spray, but it

was obvious that their labor was needed and they persevered.