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Updated: May 4, 2025
Another shrieking whistle warned her that the yacht was still near. Sailors' voices shouted orders, followed by the chug, chug, chug of an engine reversed. But, in spite of the efforts of the engineer, the wind swung the small craft sidewise against the scow, and, stupefied, Scraggy found herself gazing into the face of another woman who was peering from the launch's window.
Frobisher painfully hauled himself to his feet and staggered to the bulwarks to ascertain what had happened, and a sufficiently disheartening spectacle met his eyes. Several shots from the last volley had evidently penetrated the plating of the steam launch's boiler, causing it to explode, blowing the frail sides of the little craft asunder and killing nearly every man of her crew.
And I wished then, as I had before, and as I did to a much greater extent later, that fate had not decreed that he should have chanced to be a member of the launch's party upon that memorable day when last we quitted the Coldwater.
The mate and Bill Blunt hauled cautiously on the launch painter until the big boat bumped alongside, her white paint blistered and blackened, her white canvas awning a tattered torch of smoldering rags. Then Barry sprang up, threw himself over the rail, and Little and Gordon followed in silence. A small brown man jumped after them and went directly to the launch's engine.
I wonder if that infernal skipper took in the launch's awnings before he went home." Wrayford stopped with his hand on the door. "Yes, I saw him do it. She's shipshape for the night." "Good! That saves me a run down to the shore." "Good night, then," said Wrayford. "Good night, old man. You'll tell her?" "I'll tell her." "And mum about my mother!" his host called after him.
The launch's gun had not been fired, and, calling to Dick, Harry leaped down into the boat. The two midshipmen trained the gun upon the nearest prahu, and aiming at the waterline, fired it when the craft was within twenty feet of them.
The Spaniard did not answer, and while he pondered, the beat of a launch's engine came in through the open ports. Kenwardine lighted a cigarette, spending some time over it, and as he finished the launch ran alongside. There were footsteps on deck, and a few moments later a steward entered the saloon. "We are going in," he announced. "Will you have your luggage put on deck?"
Dick changed his course, because the steamer's three lights would not have been visible unless she was directly following him and the launch's small yellow funnel and dingy white topsides would be hard to distinguish. When he had shut out one of the colored side lights and knew he was safe, he stopped the engine to wait until the vessel passed.
When the launch swung up, a vague, hazy smear rather suggested than indicated land astern; the sea ahead was dark, but in one place a faint reflection on the sky told that the moon would soon rise. Although the beach was some distance off, a dull monotonous rumble, pierced now and then by the clank of the launch's engines, hinted at breaking surf.
The night shut down "as dark as a wolf's mouth," to use the skipper's own metaphor; and the chief mate took the first watch, with Bob on the look-out. It must have been somewhere about six bells, or 11 p.m., when the latter was startled by seeing the crest of the sea ahead of him breaking in a cloud of phosphoric foam over some object directly in line with the launch's bow.
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