Chapter 25

THE FIRST STRUGGLE

The engine-room floor-plates slanted, and light and shadow played about the throbbing machinery. It looked as if the lamps swung in a semicircle, but they did not. All else slanted at an ever-changing angle; the swiveled lamps were still. Overhead the dark and bulky cylinders cut against the reflected glimmer on the skylights; below, valve-gear and connecting-rod flashed across the gloom, and the twinkling cranks spun in their shallow pit. One saw the big columns shake and strain as the crosshead shot up and down; the thrust-blocks groaned with the back push of the propeller.

A door in the bulkhead was open, and now and then a blaze from the stokehold lighted the engine-room. Shovels clanged and the thud of a hammer jarred upon the throb of machinery. Men moved about like ghosts. Their feet made no noise; for a moment one saw their sweat-streaked faces and then they vanished. Lister sat on a tool-box, an old pipe in his mouth, and was happier than he had been for long. For one thing, his men were getting sober and he saw they knew their job; then he was satisfied with his engines and relished the sense of control. He was _chief_, and until the tug came back from Africa the engines were his.

In the meantime he need not move about. It was like listening to an orchestra of which he knew all the instruments, and he heard no jarring notes. The harmony was good and the rhythm well marked. The clash and clang rose and fell with a measured beat; but the smooth running of his engines did not account for all Lister's satisfaction. In a sense, Barbara had given him his job, he was her servant, doing her work, and this was much, although he scarcely durst hope for another reward.

Cartwright had not without careful thought sent Lister on board. He knew the young fellow's staunchness as he knew Barbara's, and, because his need was great, had not hesitated to use him and the girl. He was old and must be resigned to sit at his desk and plan, but, as a rule, his plans worked, and he had a talent for choosing his tools. When it was possible, he used his tools carefully; he hated to overstrain fine material.

_Terrier's_ regular lurch and roll indicated that she was steaming along the coast, in some shelter from the wind that blew obliquely off the land. By and by, however, the lurches got violent, and when Lister heard the thud of water on deck he went up, and opening the door on the lee side, looked out. Water splashed against the ledge that protected the engine-room; the stack of coal worked and he heard big lumps fall. Spray blew across the bulwarks and fell in heavy showers from a boat on the skids. For a few moments this was all he could distinguish, and then he saw slopes of water slanting away from the tug's low side. A half-moon shone for a few moments between ragged clouds and was hidden.

Lister stepped across the ledge and went aft. _Terrier_ felt the drag of the hulk astern, and he wanted to see how she was towing. He heard the iron ring clang on the hook, and when he stopped by the horse, the big tow-rope surged to and fro across the arch. The hulk steered wildly, and if the sea got worse, he doubted if they could hold her. He knew where he was, because he had steamed along the coast on board the cattle boat. The Anglesey shore was fringed by reefs, the tide-races ran in white turmoil across the ledges. The tide had now nearly run out, but when they turned the corner at Carmel Point they would meet the flood stream and the big combers the gale drove up channel. Going to the pilot-house, Lister lighted his pipe.

"A fierce night!" he remarked to Brown, who peered through the spray-swept glass. "I reckon you'll want to slow down when we make Carmel."

The house was dark, but Lister saw the captain turn. "I'm bothered," Brown admitted. "We ought to push on, but while we might tow the hulk under, we can't tow her down channel. We can't turn and run; it's blowing down the Menai Strait like a bellows spout, and there's all the Mersey sands to leeward. We have got to face the sea and try to make Holyhead. Will your engines shove her through?"

"They'll give you six or seven knots, head to wind. Will your tow rope hold?"

"I doubt. We have a steel hawser ready, but if she breaks the hemp rope she'll probably break the wire."

Lister agreed. The thick hemp rope stretched and absorbed the strain; the wire was less elastic. They were approaching Carmel Point, and Holyhead was not far, but they must front the gale when they got round the corner. In the meantime, the engines were running smoothly, and Lister smoked and waited while the sea got worse. Flashing lights ahead and the violent lurching indicated that they crept round the point. Then _Terrier_ plunged into a white sea and deck and bulwarks vanished. Her bows swung out of the foam and Lister ran to the door. He felt the tug leap forward and knew the rope had gone.

He got out in front of Brown and plunged down the ladder. Since _Terrier_ must be stopped and turned, he was needed. Water ran from his clothes when he reached a slanted platform and seized a greasy wheel. The telegraph gong was clanging and the beat of engines slackened as he followed the orders. Then the spinning cranks stopped altogether and for a minute or two there was a strange quietness. One heard the wind, and water splashed in the bilges.

Lister got the signal _Ahead slow_, and when he restarted his engines ran up the ladder. He could trust the man he left, and wanted to see what was happening. It was a moment or two before he could satisfy his curiosity, and then a bright beam illuminated the tug and angry water. Brown was burning a blue-light while _Terrier_ crept up to the hulk. He meant to pass the fresh hawser, but could not launch a boat, and Lister doubted if the men on the hulk could heave the heavy wire rope on board. Although one must get near to throw a line, it looked as if Brown were going alongside.

Two dark figures, crouched on _Terrier's_ rail like animals ready to spring, cut against the blaze. Brown was going alongside; anyhow, he was going near enough for the men to jump, but the thing was horribly risky. If the rolling hulk struck the tug planks and iron plates would be beaten in; moreover the men must jump from the slanted rail, and if they jumped short, their long boots and oilskins would drag them down.

It looked as if Cartwright knew how to choose men for an awkward job, for as the tug got nearer Lister saw the men meant to go. She swung up on the top of a white sea; the hulk, swept by spray, rolled down, with her deck close below the steamer's rail. One felt they must shock, but they did not. The dark figures leaped, there was a faint shout, a line whirled out from _Terrier's_ bridge and the hulk drove astern. Then the blue light vanished and Lister plunged into the engine-room. Somehow the thing was done.

The gong signaled _Half-speed_, the rhythmic clash of engines began, and Lister felt _Terrier_ tremble as she tightened the rope. Brown had played his part and Lister's had begun. He wondered whether they could keep the water out of the engine-room. They had drifted off-shore, and now they had opened up the channel the combers leaped on board. The seas were not regular; they ran in short, steep ridges, and gave the tug no time to lift. While she swung her bows from the foaming turmoil the next swept her deck. But to watch the seas and keep the hulk in line was the captain's business, and Lister was occupied by his.

Standing on a slanted platform with his hand on the throttle, he waited for the lurch that lifted the spinning screw. When the blades left the water, the engines raced with a horrible din and he must cut off steam. If he let the engines go, something might break when the propeller got hold again. The work demanded a firm but delicate touch, since the pressure must change with the swiftly-changing load. One could not argue when the bows would plunge and the stern swing clear; one must know instinctively. The muscular effort was not hard, but Lister's face was wet with sweat, and when he was slow and the engine-room rang with the clash of machinery his heart beat. The big columns that held the cylinders rocked; crank and connecting-rod spun too fast for him to see. There was a confusing flash of steel and a daunting uproar.

For the most part, he was able to get control before the stern came down. Moreover, he was not using full steam; to let her go would swamp the boat and wash the men off the laboring hulk. Lister knew the rope held because he felt the heavy drag. Although she rolled and plunged, there was no life in _Terrier's_ movements. She was sluggish, embarrassed by the load she hauled.

Lister thought about the men on board the hulk. Two, buffeted by wind and spray, must hold the wheel on the short quarter-deck that lifted them above the shelter of the bulwarks. Forward of this, the water rolled about, washing on board and pouring out. The men could not for a moment slack their watchfulness. Sweating and straining at the spokes, they must hold her straight. To let her sheer when she crossed a comber's top would break the rope.

The strain on the laboring engines indicated that the men held out and Lister fixed his thoughts on his machinery. One could not see much, but while he turned the valve-wheel he listened. If a bearing got hot or a brass shook loose, he would hear the jar. An engine running as it ought to run was like a well-tuned instrument.

He heard no discord. The heavy thud of the cross-heads, flashing between their guides, beat time to the clang of the valve-gear, a pump throbbed like a kettledrum, and something tinkled like a high-pitched triangle. All went well, the engines were good and _Terrier_ stubbornly forged ahead.

By and by the strain was less marked. The load was getting lighter and after a time Lister let go the wheel and wiped his wet face. He could stand on the platform without support, the plunges were easy and regular. Calling a man to relieve him, he went to the door.

The sea was white, but it no longer ran in crested ridges and a vague dark line crossed the foam ahead. Sometimes part of the line vanished and reappeared like a row of dots with broad gaps between. Lister knew it was breakwater. On the other side anchor-lights tossed, and in the background a dull, reflected illumination indicated a town. Then the gong rang and Lister went back to the platform. In a few minutes he would get the signal to stop his engines. The first struggle was over; Brown had made Holyhead.