Part 8 (1/2)

”No more strain than to think bad of 'em. But what'd be the use? Us two an' old Pete, who'll be sleepin' aboard, c'n run her, Bud.”

And they had put out in the _Whist_, and now down in the combined engine and fire-room of her were Harty and old Pete toiling to keep steam up. A notorious little craft, the _Whist_, one of those legacies which sometimes fall to the Service; the department always going to fix her up, and always putting it off until the next appropriation. Her old boilers leaked, and in a sea-way her old seams gaped, and what between keeping steam up and her bilge pumped out, Harty and Pete could hardly find time to brace their feet whenever she attempted, as she did about every fifteen seconds, to heave them across the floor.

To the wheel of the _Whist_ was Baldwin, and as with every dive of the plunging _Whist_ the spray scattered high above her bows, so through the open windows of the pilot-house came barrels of it, and not a spoonful that didn't go to his drenching.

”But it's a good thing to get good and wet at first,” reflected Baldwin, ”then you won't be worryin' any more about it.” It was not only wet, but cold. But naturally, too, when you're a-wrecking to sea of a cold winter's night you just got to expect a few little discomforts.

The ancient _Whist_ rolled down, down, down, and jumped up, up, up; but mostly she went down, and while she was down the swooping seas piled over her. However, all right so far; an hour now since she had left the breakwater, and there she was still afloat. No telling always about those wheezy little wrecks of tugs. Baldwin looked out and back toward her stern, almost with pride. Going since the Civil War, she'd been, and still afloat. Must have been some little original virtues in her planks that pleased old Neptune, and so he pa.s.sed her up. Maybe she'd never been caught in the open seas on a night like this; well, maybe not, but you betcher she wasn't afraid of it.

Straight out from the breakwater Baldwin kept her going. Slow, heavy, pounding work; and now two hours gone, and no light-s.h.i.+p yet. He swung her about, a ticklish feat, and paralleled the beach to the north, and just off the beach, after an hour of northing, he spied the distress signals--two, three, yes, and four big torches.

The countless white-plumed riders were charging by, but straight for the drifting lights, straight down the line of roaring troopers, Baldwin paraded his little _Whist_; and when he was near enough, ”We'll heave you a line!” he hailed. ”And in G.o.d's name get it, for there mayn't be a chance for a second one afore the breakers 'll get you.”

He placed his mouth to the engine-room tube ”Ho-o, Buddie. On deck with your line now.”

”All right, Baldy.” Harty turned to his working mate. ”So long Pete, see you later.”

”So long, son, and have a care on that open deck.”

Harty climbed the iron ladder to the deck, shouldered his way through the wind-pressed door and onto the deck, and started aft.

It was cold. Under his thin suit of dungaree Harty was rolling in sweat.

The winter wind whipped him like a cat-o'-nine-tails. He crept aft, coiled his heaving line and waited in the stern for the word. She was jumping so that to hold his feet on her open, icy deck aft, he was compelled to hook one hand to the towing bitts.

”Only time for one try, so don't let nothing go wrong. An' watch out for any of those big fellows comin' aboard, Bud,” came Baldwin's last warning.

V

On Light-s.h.i.+p 67, drifting broad onto the breakers, all hands were perched high in her rigging, safe above any stray seas; all but Nelson and Bowen, who were hanging on to her weather rail forward.

Bowen was the first to realize what the figure on the after end of the tug meant to them. ”Heave for here!” he shouted, and Nelson, also awake to the situation, held up one of the torches for a mark.

Nearer and nearer b.u.t.ted the tug. ”Stand by!” they heard the call from the forward end of her. Looking up, they could see the shadow against the pilot-house light. ”By!” came the echo, and the man astern stepped on to her open quarter and balanced himself to heave.

A note in that answering voice caught Bowen's ear. ”Say, Nelson, that's not one of the tug's regular crew!”

”I don't know. I don't t'ink, but he ban a foolish man,” replied Nelson--”he should lash himself.”

”Stand by with the line!” came again.

”By!” echoed tensely from astern.

”Ready!”

”All ready!”

”When she lifts! Now--w--”

From the top of a sea the line came whistling down to the light-s.h.i.+p rail. ”I'll take it,” called Bowen, and, loosing his hold of the stay, he reached out and caught the flying line to his breast. ”A good throw,”

he muttered, and hauled it in.