“You really think that, ker-ker-captain?”
Ralph couldn’t help smiling at the title La Rue had conferred on him in his fawning, miserable fright.
“Of course I do,” replied Ralph. “Why, her timbers are very thin. She was only built for a racing machine, not for such work as this.”
Bang! Who-o-o-o-f!
A big sea, which Ralph had purposely met quartering, smote the River Swallow a terrific buffet on the port bow. The spray and spume flew high in the air, drenching the occupants of the bridge.
“A few more of those and we’re goners, sure,” said Ralph with a grin, which he had to turn away his face to conceal, as La Rue broke into a whimper.
“Isn’t there anything you can do, captain?”
“Nothing, except trust to Providence that we don’t go to the bottom within the next half hour,” rejoined Ralph.
Another huge wave hit the craft. A tremor ran through her but it was nothing to the anguish that convulsed the terrified La Rue as the sea struck.
He was now a ghastly blending of two hues, a pasty yellow, a greenish white.