as soon as aynsley joined her at victoria, the handsome schooner-yacht, with its auxiliary engines, got under way. for the first day or two the wind was fair, but although she spread a good deal of canvas, clay insisted on keeping up a full head of steam.
“she’d slip along fast enough with her propeller disconnected and the gaff-topsails set,” aynsley expostulated. “keeping the fires going is a waste of coal.”
“i’m willing to meet the bill,” clay replied. “guess i’m used to hustling, and i like to feel i’m getting there.”
“we may get there too soon,” aynsley persisted. “i expect we’ll find ice about the island.”
“then we can wait until it clears. keep her going at her best clip to please me.”
aynsley promised to do so, though his father’s eagerness made him thoughtful. as a matter of fact, clay was tensely impatient to begin work on the wreck. he had so far never spoiled an undertaking by undue haste, but he had now a foreboding that if he delayed his attempt he might be too late. his life was threatened, and he must finish the work he had on hand while there was an opportunity.
when they lost sight of vancouver island the wind drew ahead, and, furling sail, the yacht proceeded under steam. for two days she made a satisfactory run, and then, as the breeze freshened and the sea got up, her speed slackened and, burdened by her heavy masts, she plunged viciously through the white-topped combers. the weather did not improve, and on the third afternoon clay stood on the sloppy after-deck impatiently looking about. gray mist obscured the horizon, and long ranks of frothing seas loomed up ahead. the vessel lurched over them, rolling wildly, burying her bows in the foam, which swept in across her low bulwarks and poured out through the waist gangway in streaky cataracts. the sooty cloud from her funnel streamed far to leeward, and clay could feel her engines throbbing; but he saw that she was making poor speed, and he beckoned to aynsley, who came aft and joined him.
“i’ve been watching that log since lunch, and she’s doing very badly,” he said, indicating the dial of a brass instrument on the taffrail. “there’s hardly sea enough to account for it, and they seem to be firing up.”
“saltom is having some trouble with his condenser,” aynsley explained. “as you’re anxious to get on, he didn’t want to stop, but the vacuum’s falling.”
“then i’ll go down and see him; but i’m not an engineer, so you’d better come along.”
they climbed down a greasy iron ladder, and found a man in overalls kneeling beside a big iron casting in the bottom of the engine room. near by piston-rod and connecting-rod flashed with a silvery glimmer between the throbbing cylinders and the whirling cranks that flung a shower of oil about, and floor-plates and frames vibrated in time to the rhythmic clangor. the engineer held an open lamp, its pale flame flickering to and fro as the vessel rolled, while he watched the index of the vacuum gage.
“you have lost half an inch since i was down,” said aynsley, stooping beside him.
“she’s surely worrying me,” replied the engineer. “i’ll have to let up on feeding from the hot-well before long, and we haven’t too much fresh water.”
“are you satisfied it’s not the air-pumps?”
“can’t see anything wrong with them. i suspect there’s something jambing the main inlet-valve, and the tubes may be foul, though those i took out last season were clean.”
“why didn’t you scrap the blamed condenser if you doubted it?” clay broke in. “i haven’t cut your bills, and this boat has got to go when i want her.”
his tone was sharp, and the man looked up with a start.
“i don’t waste my employer’s money,” he began; but clay cut him short.
“let that go! she won’t run, you say. what are you going to do about it?”
aynsley was surprised. clay had a quick temper, but he generally knew how to keep it in check, and now his voice was hoarse with rage.
“i’d like to stop her right away and see what’s wrong, but it’s a long job to strip a surface-condenser and these castings are heavy to move about.”
“she’d fall off into the trough of the sea when her propeller stopped, and the rolling would make his work very difficult,” aynsley explained.
“well,” clay said shortly, “what do you suggest?”
“i’d like a day or two to overhaul her in, up some inlet where we’d get smooth water,” the engineer replied.
“do you know of a suitable place?” clay asked aynsley.
“yes; but it’s a little off our course, and would take a day to reach.”
clay turned with a frown to the engineer.
“he’ll sail her in, but if you’re not through in forty-eight hours, i’ll fire you and scrap this machine!” then he touched aynsley’s arm. “leave him to it, and give your orders to hartley.”
they went up on deck, and aynsley saw his father light a cigar and then savagely throw it away; and when he came back after speaking to the skipper clay was standing in the deckhouse with a small bottle and a wineglass in his hand. he looked at his son angrily, and aynsley, recognizing the bottle, hastily went out.
a few minutes later the yacht swung off her course to the east, and they set the foresail and two jibs. at midnight, when it was blowing hard, the engines stopped, and they hoisted the reefed mainsail. aynsley was surprised to see clay on deck, but he did not speak to him, for clay’s manner indicated that he was in a dangerous mood.
when day broke the schooner was sailing fast, close-hauled, with her lee channels in the water and the white seas breaking over her weather bow. aynsley found his father sitting at the foot of the mainmast, which was the only dry spot. it looked as if he had been on deck since midnight.
“she’s getting along fast, but hartley thinks she’s carrying more sail than is prudent,” aynsley remarked. “there’s a big strain on the weather rigging, and i imagine it would be safer to heave her to and shorten sail.”
“let her go,” said clay. “the fellow who designed her specified the best oregon sticks for masts, and i remember paying high for them. now they’ve got to stand up to it.”
“very well,” aynsley acquiesced; but when the breeze still freshened he stayed on deck, watching the growing list of the vessel as, hard pressed by the canvas and half buried in foam, she plunged furiously through the breaking seas.
during the morning the wind veered to the east, breaking the schooner off her course, so that they were forced to make long tacks, and it was late when a great range of forest-shrouded hills rose up ahead. rocky points and small islands broke the line of beach, and as they closed with it aynsley climbed the fore rigging with his glasses. there was a gap in the belt of surf three or four miles off, which he knew was the spot he sought, and coming down, he had a consultation with the skipper before he explained the situation to clay.
“so far as we can calculate from the tables, the tide had been ebbing for about two hours,” he said. “that means the stream will be setting strongly out of the inlet, and we’ll have the wind against us going in. i know the place pretty well, because i once sheltered there, but hartley wasn’t with me then, and after looking at the chart he’s a bit nervous about trying it on the ebb.”
“how long would you have to wait for water on the flood?”
“about nine hours. you see there’s a rocky patch in the entrance, and not much room to tack. then saltom wants to put her on the beach, and we’d have to wait until near high-water unless we go in at once. still, it’s a very awkward place.”
“take her in and chance it!”
as she drew nearer, aynsley stood in the rigging, studying the shore through his glasses. he could see by the wet belt above the fringe of surf that the water had fallen; and the inlet had a forbidding look. on the starboard side of its mouth the tops of massive boulders showed through the leaping foam; to port there was a rocky shoal; and beyond these dangers a deep, narrow channel ran inland between the hills. the wind blew straight down it, lashing the water white.
“we’ll want speed; you’d better give her the whole mainsail,” he advised the skipper when he came down.
for a few minutes the crew were busy shaking out the reef, and then as the yacht buried her lee bulwarks aynsley took the wheel. the sea was smoother close in along the land, but she was hard pressed by her large spread of sail, and the water that leaped in across her bows flowed ankle-deep across the steeply slanted deck. the tall masts bent to leeward, the weather shrouds hummed, and her crew stood with bent legs at their stations on the inclined wet planking, ready to seize the sheets. forward, a dripping seaman swung the lead in the midst of the spray cloud that whirled about her rigging, and his voice came faintly aft through the roar of parted water.
“seven fathom!” he missed a cast, and his next cry was sharper. “shoaling, sir! and a quarter six!”
there was silence for a few moments while he gathered up his line, and the yacht raced in toward the beach.
“by the deep, four!” he called.
“ready about!” shouted aynsley, pulling at his wheel. “helm’s a-lee!”
there was a furious thrashing of canvas as she rose to an even keel, while rocks and pines closed in on one another as her bows swung round. then she started on the opposite tack, heading for the entrance, with the boulders not far to leeward and the tide on her weather bow. it carried her back, the trailing screw hampered her, and when a wild gust hove her down until the sea boiled level with her rail clay, holding on by a shroud, glanced sharply at his son.
aynsley was gazing fixedly ahead, his face set but cool, though the foam that surged among the boulders seemed rushing toward them. clay was not much of a seaman but he could see that they were gaining little; but he had confidence in his son. the leadsman had found bottom at three fathoms and still aynsley did not bring her round. there was a slack along that shore, and he meant to make the most of it, though it looked as if she must strike in the next few moments.
she swayed upright suddenly, swung, and drove away on the other tack toward a confused white seething, where stream and shore-running sea met upon the shoal. they were close upon it when she came round again; and five minutes later she was racing back, with the ominous white patch on her lee bow, but not far enough for her to clear it. on the opposite side a tongue of beach ran out, narrowing the entrance. it looked impossible for them to get in, and during the few moments while she sped toward the rocks clay was conscious of a new respect for his son.
aynsley had shown himself no fool in business, he was a social favorite, and now he was altogether admirable as he stood, composed but strung up, at the yacht’s helm. his finely proportioned figure was tense, his wet face was resolute, and there was a keen sparkle in his eyes. the boy was showing fine nerve and judgment. clay was proud of him. this strengthened his determination to safeguard his son’s career. aynsley must bear an honored name; it was unthinkable that reproach should follow him on account of his father’s misdoings.
aynsley shouted to the skipper, who was anxiously watching the shore.
“there’s not much room! i’ll let her shoot well ahead before i fill on her. see the boys are handy with the fore-sheets!”
as he pulled the helm down, hartley gave an order, and the schooner, coming round, drove forward, head to wind, with canvas banging. it was a bold but delicate maneuver, for aynsley had to trust that her momentum would carry her through the dangerous passage against the tide. if it failed to do so, and she lost her speed before he could cant her on to a new tack, there was no way of saving her from the rocks. the skipper stood with set lips amidship just clear of the jerking foresail-boom; the crew forward, the slack of the fore-sheets in their hands; and clay, leaning on the rail aft, watched his son. aynsley’s pose was alert but easy; he looked keen but confident with his hands clenched upon the wheel.
“lee sheets!” he cried, pulling the wheel over sharply.
her head swung slowly round, and the shaking canvas filled; she gathered way, and when her deck slanted the boulders were sliding past abeam. coming round again, she left them astern, and drove forward swiftly into clear and sheltered water. ten minutes afterward they ran the headsails down, and aynsley ran her gently on to the beach. there she would have to stop until engineer saltom finished his repairs.
