The tide carried us clear of the buoy.
"Engines."
The bow of the Swift swung round to starboard. She was heading for an open stretch of water.
"Quartermaster, ready. Engines, full."
I was pushed back against the bulkhead as though by a heavy hand as the boat leaped forward. The air speed indicator jumped to sixty knots, a hundred, a hundred and fifty, two hundred. There was no noise such as I had been accustomed to in a flying-boat. For an instant there had been the crash of a breaking bow wave, but now there was only a rubbing, rustling noise along the hull, and an increased soughing of the wind in the tree-tops. I learned afterwards that this noise was made by the oil vapour being forced through the nozzles in the generators.
"Level at six hundred," ordered Pank.
"Level, sir."
"Engines, two hundred knots."
"Twa hunder, sir."
On a square ground-glass sheet in front of the Quartermaster appeared figures picked out in light.