It seemed a small weapon with which to fight the vast quantities of water that must already have accumulated in the barge, but Ken knew it was all they had. He took up a position opposite Sandy and bent his own back to the task.
Suddenly a stream of dirty water began jetting from the outlet hole to splash on the deck.
“She’s coming!” Sandy yelled. “Faster!”
Back and forth, back and forth, they worked the handle as rapidly as they could. When a big wave raced over the aft bulwark and threatened to drown them, they still hung onto the pump handle, and were working it again the moment the receding water let them breathe.
Back and forth ... back and forth.... Under their heavy oilskins their frozen bodies began to warm up.
Ten minutes went by, and then ten more. They were becoming uncomfortably hot. Sweat mingled with the salt spray on their faces. Their aching muscles cried for rest. But they kept on. Back and forth ... back and forth....
Suddenly Ken knew that the agony of his parched throat was one thing he could no longer bear.
“Water,” he said. “I need water.”
Sandy answered without losing his rhythm. “Go ahead. I’ll get some later.”
The cabin was warm and peaceful and quiet. Ken had to avoid passing near a chair, for fear he would slump down on it and never rise again. He forced himself to hurry, gulping his drink and turning back toward the door the moment he had slaked his burning thirst.