My uncle looked at the young Colombian reproachfully.
“Them ‘ifs’ seem to excuse a lot of fool remarks,” he said. “The only way to launch the Seagull would be with dynamite, and after that she wouldn’t be likely to float.”
It was now the middle of the afternoon, and although the sky continued gloomy there was no air stirring and I dared not wait longer if I meant to rescue Joe. I was very uneasy about my old chum, for the earthquake was likely to have created as much havoc at the Pearl City as it had at this end of the island.
My father had gone into the hold with the carpenter and Ned to examine the condition of the ship. The little damage we had sustained from the typhoon which had tossed the ship to her elevated perch had already been repaired—quite foolishly we thought. But the Seagull was still dear to the heart of Captain Steele, and he took as much care of her now that she was useless as when she was proudly riding the waves.
“What’s the programme?” asked Uncle Naboth, as I prepared to start.
“I’m going to try to get to the city and find Joe. If possible I’ll get him aboard and fetch him back with me. That’s as far as I can plan now, Uncle.”
“You won’t be foolhardy?”
“I’ll try not to be.”
Then I took my seat, Lucia started the motors, and a moment later I was flying over the forest.