The dory rose and fell, occasionally her propeller being out of the water so that it raced. Frank and Ned braced themselves against the rolling, pitching and tossing motion, Frank now and then raising himself to peer ahead to mark a course for steering.
“Better start the pump again!” he shouted into his brother’s ear. “We’ve more water in her than I like to see.”
“Thought you said we’d need all our power to make the inlet.”
“So we will. But you can run the pump a few minutes before we’ll have to buck the tide. Shut her off when I tell you.”
The two boys gave their attention to managing their craft now. Gradually she was emptied of water again, and, at a nod from Frank, Ned disconnected the pump gears. As he stood up after doing this, he saw, on the open sea back of him and about two miles off shore, a dark mass which seemed shrouded in smoke.
“Look Frank!” he cried. “A ship on fire!”
Frank gave a quick glance.
“No!” he answered, raising his voice to make it heard above the roar of the wind and the swish of the rain, “that’s a battleship—the Texas, I think. I read she was to pass down this way. Yes, that’s what it is—one of Uncle Sam’s battleships! Say, I wish we were nearer and could get a better view. Isn’t that great!” and Frank, with shining eyes, looked earnestly in the direction of the big craft which moved along over the tempestuous sea as though no strife nor storm could produce an impression on her.
“It sure is great!” agreed Ned. “Say, Frank, do you know what my one ambition is?”
“Well, you change so often that it’s hard to keep track.”