Sandy’s answer was reluctant, as if he really were incapable of thought—or believed it to be entirely futile. “They don’t amount to much,” he said finally. “He makes sure the lines are secure. Makes sure the running lights are in working order. Checks the bilges and starts the pump if the water in the hold gets too deep. Generally I guess he just sits in here by the fire.”
At that moment, as if to prove Sandy’s words, Cal came in again. He looked over at them briefly, his thick lip curved in its usual sneer. Then he shook the stove into life, refilled his enamel mug with coffee once more, and settled down in the comfortable chair he had occupied earlier that evening. Deliberately he opened up his newspaper.
Ken clenched his teeth. They couldn’t even discuss the possibilities of escape with Cal sitting there on guard.
In a sudden frenzy he strained at the bonds around his wrists. But even if his hands hadn’t been already numb, he knew instantly he couldn’t break the cord if he struggled over it for a year. The rope around his crossed ankles was equally strong and equally secure.
He could feel the bunk under him jerk as Sandy shifted his weight, and knew that Sandy too had been making the same useless attempt.
The coal in the stove crackled softly. Outside, the spray beat against the walls. Time dragged by endlessly.
Suddenly Ken’s body jarred against the wall of the bunk. He came to, blinking, and realized that despite the tautness of his nerves he had been exhausted enough to sleep. As he twisted himself away from the wall his eyes fell on a clock he hadn’t noticed before, high on the opposite wall. It said five o’clock.
Ken instantly was wide awake. Five o’clock! Then they had been underway for a long time.
He felt the motion of the barge beneath him. It was no longer a steady forward drive. It was an up-and-down heave. And spray was now lashing frequently against door and windows.
Ken knew the barge had left the shelter of the shore. It was nearing the open sea.