“Go to it, feller!” The man waved his hand gayly. “You’re a sportsman!”
“All right,” answered Toby. “Give me plenty of cable. Here goes!”
Toby speeded up the engine, the cable tightened, the Urnove’s propeller thrashed and churned as the weight of the bigger boat was felt, and for a moment, while the stout rope strained and dripped water, the outcome appeared in doubt. Then, however, the Sinbad’s bow swung slowly around, the line slackened a little, tautened again and the Urnove, with her engine chugging madly and the waves tossing her about, moved ahead.
Once under way, Toby slowed the engine down and headed straight into the seas. With that load astern the little launch shipped water at every plunge and Toby knew that his safest course was to make dead into the weather until he had reached the lee of Robins Island. There he could run northwest and, once around the end of the island, find smoother seas off New Suffolk where Nassau Point would break the force of wind and tide. But it was a good five miles to the southernmost end of the island and his course took him down the very middle of the bay. There was no longer any question of keeping dry, for the spray flew over the bows at every dip and now and then a full-sized wave rushed in, cascading over the seat and running astern to where Arnold was busy, bailer in hand. Toby steered with the starboard wheel, where he had the engine within arm’s reach, but steering the Urnove with tons of weight holding her stern down was a different matter from steering her under ordinary conditions, and Toby had his hands full. Behind them, at the end of the dipping line, came the Sinbad, swaying and plunging about, and looking, in the fast-gathering dusk, like some wounded and helpless sea-monster. Arnold, abandoning his bailer for a moment, crept forward to Toby’s side.
“What are we making?” he asked.
Toby looked back at the running water. “About four miles, I guess,” he answered.
“It’ll take us two hours, then. How about lights?”
“Better try, Arn. Maybe if you squeeze down and get your match inside the locker you can do it. If you can’t we’ll just have to risk it. They’ll light up on the cruiser pretty quick, I guess. Got matches?”
Arnold nodded and set about his task. Lying flat on the wet flooring, lantern and matches held under a seat locker, he finally met with success. Darkness came early that September evening, and long before the lights on Robins Island appeared ahead the Sinbad was lost to sight save for her lanterns. Arnold, too, had to fight, for water entered the Urnove not only over the gunwale but up through opening seams in her hull, and from the time darkness fell and the distant lights on shore twinkled through the night he had to bail incessantly to keep the water from gaining. Both boys were wet to their skins now and the searching wind, straight from the northeast, set them shivering. Arnold envied the occupants of the Sinbad, who, at least, had the protection of their cabin. He and Toby swapped jobs after awhile, Arnold taking the wheel and Toby the wooden bailer. They set the roughest seas about a half-hour after their start, by which time the bay had widened out and the wind, sweeping wildly down from Little Peconic, tumbled the water into a sea that might have daunted the skipper of a larger craft than the tiny Urnove. More than once, if truth is told, Arnold’s heart scampered up into his throat as some more than ordinarily ugly wave smashed at the launch, lifted it sickeningly, dropped it with a contemptuous bang and rushed madly astern. He was secretly relieved when darkness settled down. Probably conditions were just as bad, but they were hidden from sight.