Leone, and may pick up
some British Kroos about the port."

"Then I'd better go soon," said Lister. "The braces I bolted on the pump
won't hold long; she rocks and strains the shaft when she's running
hard. I must get a proper casting made at a foundry. Besides, the engine
crosshead's worn and jumps about. I must try to find a forge and
machine-shop."

"They've got something of the kind at _Sar_ Leone; I don't know about a
foundry," Brown replied. "Take Learmont to navigate, and start when you
like. We'll shift the hulk to leeward of the wreck and she ought to ride
out a south-east breeze."

Lister sailed a few days afterwards, and reaching Sierra Leone found
nobody could make the articles he required. For all that, they must be
got, and he resolved to push on for Grand Canary. The distance was long,
he had not men enough for an ocean voyage, and would be lucky if he got
back to the lagoon in three or four weeks, but if he could not mend the
pump, the salvage work must stop. Lister knew when to run a risk was
justified.

After he passed the Gambier, wind and sea were ahead, his crew was
short, and he was hard pressed to keep the engine going and watch the
furnaces. He slept when he could, in snatches, with his clothes on, and
now and then used an exhausted fireman's shovel On the steamy African
coast the labor and watchfulness would have worn him out, but the cool
Trade breeze was bracing. Although he was thin, and got thinner, the
lassitude he had felt at the lagoon vanished, and the fatigue he fought
against was not the fatigue that kills.

In the meantime, _Terrier_ pushed stubbornly north across the long,
foam-tipped seas that broke in clouds of spray against her thrusting
bows. She was swept by the sparkling showers, but the showers were warm,
and the combers were not often steep enough to flood her deck. For all
that, their impact slowed her speed. She must be driven through their
tumbling crests, full steam was needed to overcome the shock, and the
worn-out men moved down coal from the stack on deck to feed the hungry
fires.

Lister's eyes ached from the glare of smoky lamps that threw puzzling
lights about the machinery. After long balancing on slanted platforms,
his back and legs were sore; his brows were knit in a steady frown, and
his mouth was always firm. When the strain was over, he sometimes
wondered what he thought about in the long, exhausting watches, but
remembered nothing except his obstinate