“They ought to make Santa Brigida, though they’ll find some sea running when they reach off-shore to go round the Tajada reef,” he remarked.
“There’s water enough through the inside channel.”
“That’s so,” Jake agreed. “Still, it’s narrow and bad to find in the dark, and I expect the skipper would sooner go outside.” Then he glanced astern and said, “They’re coming out.”
Two white lights, one close above the other, with a pale red glimmer below, moved away from the wharf. Behind them three or four more twinkling red spots appeared, and Dick told the fireman to start the engine half-speed. Steering for the beach, he followed the fringe of surf, but kept abreast of the tug, which held to a course that would take her round the end of the reef.
When the moon shone through he could see her plunge over the steep swell and the white wash at the lighters’ bows as they followed in her wake; then as a cloud drove past, their dark hulls faded and left nothing but a row of tossing lights. By and by the launch reached a bend in the coastline and the breeze freshened and drew more ahead. The swell began to break and showers of spray blew on board, while the sea got white off-shore.
“We’ll get it worse when we open up the Arenas bight,” said Jake as he glanced at the lurching tug. “It looks as if the skipper meant to give the reef a wide berth. He’s swinging off to starboard. Watch his smoke.”
“You have done some yachting, then?”
“I have,” said Jake. “I used to sail a shoal-draught sloop on Long Island Sound. Anyway, if I’d been towing those coal-scows, I’d have edged in near the beach, for the sake of smoother water, and wouldn’t have headed out until I saw the reef. It will be pretty wet on board the scows now, and they’ll have had to put a man on each to steer.”
Dick nodded agreement and signed the fireman to turn on more steam as he followed the tug outshore. The swell got steadily higher and broke in angry surges. The launch plunged, and rattled as she swung her screw out of the sea, but Dick kept his course abreast of the tug, which he could only distinguish at intervals between the clouds of spray. Her masthead lights reeled wildly to and fro, but the low red gleam from the barges was hidden and he began to wonder why her captain was steering out so far. It was prudent not to skirt the reef, but the fellow seemed to be giving it unnecessary room. The lighters would tow badly through the white, curling sea, and there was a risk of the hawsers breaking. Besides, the engineer had complained that his machinery was not running well.
A quarter of an hour later, a belt of foam between them and the land marked the reef, and the wind brought off the roar of breaking surf. Soon afterwards, the white surge faded, and only the tug’s lights were left as a long cloud-bank drove across the moon. Jake stood up, shielding his eyes from the spray.