As soon as Aynsley joined her at Victoria, the handsome schooner1-yacht, with its auxiliary2 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 propeller3 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 hustling4, 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 wreck5. He had so far never spoiled an undertaking6 by undue7 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 plunged9 viciously through the white-topped combers. The weather did not improve, and on the third afternoon Clay stood on the sloppy10 after-deck impatiently looking about. Gray mist obscured the horizon, and long ranks of frothing seas loomed11 up ahead. The vessel12 lurched over them, rolling wildly, burying her bows in the foam13, which swept in across her low bulwarks14 and poured out through the waist gangway in streaky cataracts15. The sooty cloud from her funnel16 streamed far to leeward17, and Clay could feel her engines throbbing18; but he saw that she was making poor speed, and he beckoned19 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 brass20 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 condenser21,” 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 greasy22 iron ladder, and found a man in overalls23 kneeling beside a big iron casting in the bottom of the engine room. Near by piston-rod and connecting-rod flashed with a silvery glimmer24 between the throbbing cylinders25 and the whirling cranks that flung a shower of oil about, and floor-plates and frames vibrated in time to the rhythmic26 clangor. The engineer held an open lamp, its pale flame flickering27 to and fro as the vessel rolled, while he watched the index of the vacuum gage28.
“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 foul29, though those I took out last season were clean.”
“Why didn’t you scrap30 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 hoarse31 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 overhaul32 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 savagely33 throw it away; and when he came back after speaking to the skipper Clay was standing34 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 hoisted35 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. &............