"She's not one of the mailboats, anyway. They'd be lighted, saloon deck and poop," he said. "It almost looks as if she would get away from us."
Bill opened the whistle full, and left it screaming while he sprang up on the side deck, a black figure holding high a strip of blazing waste. Its red glare streaked the water, and the burning oil dripped from it in a sparkling rain, while Austin felt his heart beat when the man flung it down with an imprecation. Then a deep, vibratory blast came trembling across the glimmering water, and he saw the piled-up foam fall away beneath the big iron bows.
"They've seen us," he said. "She's standing by."
Five minutes later the launch lay lurching beneath the steamer's high, black side, while a man leaned out from her slanted bridge above, looking down into her.
"What d'you want?" he said. "I'm not going in for cargo unless it's worth while. We're tolerably full this trip."
"A passage," said Austin. "There are myself and two sick men. We're going to Grand Canary."
"What's the oil for?"
"To cover the ticket."
The skipper appeared to be gazing down at him in astonishment.
"Sixteen pounds' worth, at the most, for three men to Grand Canary! You have good nerves," he said.