The wave struck the stern, and the upper several feet of it sluiced straight over the bulwark. It poured over the boys, knocking their feet out from under them.
For long seconds they were submerged. Ken clung to Sandy and the redhead clung to the bitt. Finally the bulk of the deluge poured through the scuppers. Their heads came above water, and then the rest of their bodies. They lay gasping for breath.
Sandy struggled up first. “All right?” he asked, hauling Ken to his feet.
“I think so.” Ken had lost his sou’wester. Water streamed down his face from his soaked hair.
“Watch out for the next one,” Sandy warned, “while I take a look at this engine.”
The pumping machinery was housed in a small flat-topped shed about the size of a large dog kennel. Sandy dropped to his knees in front of it and unhooked the side panel that opened downward on hinges. Ken stood alongside, his eyes scanning the heaving waters that surrounded them.
“Looks dry!” Sandy yelled triumphantly. “I’ll try her.”
He wrapped the starting rope around the pulley of the two-cylinder air-cooled engine and gave it a jerk. The engine turned over, but it didn’t start.
Ken leaned down and put his mouth to Sandy’s ear. “How about gasoline? Got enough?”
Sandy unscrewed the cap of the tank. He poked his hand down as far as he could and shook his head. He had felt nothing but emptiness. Then he looked around the inner wall of the engine house, spotted a measuring stick, and thrust that down into the tank until it touched the bottom.