Mr. Bolton immediately started to haul in the line and Bill opened his throttle. Keeping just enough headway on the plane to be sure he could hold her pointed as he wished, he waited until the sea anchor was on board and his father safely aft in the passenger cockpit again, and then slightly accelerated the engine. Even this small burst of speed caused the amphibian to bury its nose in the combers; and all but foundered her under a torrent of sea water. Bill instantly idled down until the staunch little craft was moving through the water at the speed of a fast walk. He soon found that by keeping her going at this rate he prevented her drifting backward with the wind. Deviations from his heading were prevented by use of the throttle rudder and ailerons.
It was strenuous work, fighting waves in a heavy amphibian, and incomparably more tiring than driving her through the air. Moreover it took his whole power of will and concentration to keep her head from playing off and becoming the forerunner of sure disaster. His back and shoulders began to ache under the strain; and soon his leg muscles were an added source of torture because of the excessive pressure he was forced to use on the rudder pedals. He dared not shift his gaze aft, so when they had been travelling the monstrous treadmill grind for an hour by the clock, he hailed his father: “How are we making it?”
The roar of the propeller and engine almost drowned the words as the wind whipped them back to Mr. Bolton. Sensing, however, that his son wanted something, he donned a headphone and picked up Bill’s set on the other end of the line. He climbed out of the cockpit and leaned over Bill, adjusting the receiver and transmitter so that the busy pilot could talk to him.
“What did you say?” he asked from the rear cockpit once more.
“Want to know if we’ll round the point. If I turn to look, I’ll swamp her.”
“Sorry,” returned his father. “I hadn’t realized—— Yes, we’re abreast of the head now. There seems to be quite a large cove and quiet water beyond. Can’t make it out just yet. Anything else?”
“Yes. When we’re round, let me know what’s behind the head.”
For nearly ten minutes there was no further conversation. Then Bill heard his father’s voice in his ears again.
“We’re past now. That head is the western end of the island, and behind it is an almost landlocked cove. You’ll have to make a turn to the left to get in there. Think you can do it OK?”
“It’s a case of have to, I guess,” was Bill’s answer.