"She's getting too much as it is, sir," declared Kelso, regulating the supply. "Everything depends upon the right mixture. I'll see how she likes that."
He swung the flywheel. A sharp explosion in the silencer, followed by a puff of oily vapour, raised his hopes.
"Fired this time, sir," reported the Third breathlessly.
"Quite so," agreed the Old Man. Then, thinking that victory was in sight, and wishing to be an active participator in the resultant glory, he continued. "Spell-ho, Mr. Kelso. It's taken the puff out of you. Let me have a go at the brute."
Planting his legs firmly apart Captain Corbold placed one hairy hand upon the brightly polished knob on the flywheel. Putting every ounce of his massive sinews and whipcord-like muscles into the task, the Old Man pulled the wheel slowly and deliberately over compression.
Then, wonder of wonders!—the motor back-fired. More, it continued to fire in a reverse direction at the same time emitting a rattle of loud reports like that of a machine gun.
Before the Old Man recovered from his pleasurable surprise, he received a shock that was far from welcome. The propeller, running at nearly a thousand revolutions a minute, threw up a tremendous shower of oily water. Most of the objectionable liquid caught the astonished skipper full in the face. The rest hurled itself with strict impartiality over those of the crew who stood in the wake of the propeller.
Staggering backwards the Old Man subsided heavily upon Cadet Davis. The others scattered right and left, those who had escaped a drenching chortling at their comrades' discomfiture.
Recovering his feet, Captain Corbold, nursing a badly jolted thumb, beat an undignified retreat to his cabin.
The engine was still running, and continued to run until Peter Kelso dashed through the cloud of spray and succeeded in turning off the petrol supply.
"Bet you a box of cigars you don't get her going again, Kelso," sung out Strachan, the Second Officer.
"Done!" exclaimed the Third.
He was in a different sense; for in spite of his determined efforts the outboard motor refused to restart.
On that account Peter Kelso felt vastly relieved when a shout of "Sail on the weather bow, sir!" afforded him a genuine excuse to retire from the unequal contest.
CHAPTER X. Speaking the S.S. "Denham"
Geoff and Bernard received the announcement with feelings akin to those of seafaring passengers of a couple of centuries ago—when the sighting of a strange sail might denote the approach of a pirate. In spite of Third Officer Kelso's assurances that the Golden Vanity would seize the opportunity to "speak" with the first homeward-bound ship they met and communicate the news that the "crew" of the Arran Dhu were safe, they were still dreading the possibility of being transhipped for passage back to England.
Captain Corbold had given them no definite decision on that point. He had not even asked if they were willing to remain on board. As a matter of fact he had decided on his course of action, taking it for granted that the two chums would be only too glad to make the trip in the Golden Vanity.
Two considerations influenced him. One, already mentioned, was the probability of some pecuniary token of gratitude from the lads' parents. The other arose out of a new regulation governing the entry of cadets into the service of the owners, Messrs. Whatmough, Duvant & Co.
Under the old conditions a cadet was bound by indentures to serve for a term of years. If, as rarely happened, he found life afloat irksome—in which case he was practically hopeless as an officer of the Mercantile Marine—he had to continue to serve his time unless his parents or guardians forfeited a fairly expensive bond or the cadet took the disastrous step of deserting in a foreign port.
Messrs. Whatmough, Duvant & Co's. main object in taking cadets was to train them to become efficient officers for their own line. They had the sense to realize that many a youth, fired by the prospect of a life afloat, went to sea only to find his ideals rudely shattered within the first week or so. He would soon find out that a cadet's training was not all play, but a hard task often exposing him to dire peril.
Consequently a new system had been introduced. Every youth accepted by the Company as a cadet was obliged to make one voyage on probation. Nominally he appeared on the ship's books as a passenger. Although he wore uniform and received precisely the same instruction and treatment as a "bound" cadet, his parents or guardians were quite at liberty to remove him from the Company's service at the end of the first voyage without further liability. This system had been in operation for nearly two years and it was a significant fact that out of seventeen probationer cadets only one had failed to follow up a sea career.
It was to Captain Corbold's advantage to have a full quota of cadets under instruction. He received a small capitation grant for each one in his charge, together with a bonus should the lads pass the examiner in practical seamanship at the end of the voyage.
The Golden Vanity had left London River with two cadets less than her normal complement. On the eve of sailing, two youths had failed to report for duty. One because his vacillating parents changed their minds at the last moment, the other owing to the timely discovery that he was developing measles. It was then too late for other lads on the Company's waiting list to be sent for, so Captain Corbold had two cadets short on the ship's books.
The Old Man realized that in Bernard Woodward and Geoff Ensor there was material for turning out a pair of efficient cadets, and at the same time making good a slight deficiency in his exchequer. By both direct and indirect questions he had gained certain essential information concerning them. That they were keen on the sea he knew; otherwise they would not have been "cruising for pleasure" in a small yacht. He had seen the way in which the chums had each taken an oar when the boat returned from the abandoned Arran Dhu.
Of course the whole proceedings were decidedly irregular, but in the circumstances Captain Corbold argued that he was justified in taking the lads as far as Rio—if not farther. At Rio he would cable to his owners for instructions.
At the same time he realized the urgent importance of having news sent home concerning the safety of the rescued lads. Wireless had failed him. Visual signalling—either by flags or semaphore—remained.
Captain Corbold, having changed into dry kit, came on deck. The Third Officer and the bo'sun, the latter carrying the code-book under his arm, went to meet him.
Since signalling by means of flags is a somewhat slow process, it is desirable to make the message in as few "hoists" as possible.
"Will this do, sir?" asked Kelso. "VYK seems to meet the case."
The Old Man glanced at the now open code-book.
"'VYK—Have shipwrecked crew on board; will you let me transfer them to you'," he read. "No; won't do at all. I'm not transhipping 'em. Try under 'Hands'. Anything about 'All hands saved', Mr. Kelso?"
"Yes, sir, DXR."
"Then make it so. I don't suppose you'll find the Arran Dhu, in the 'Code-list of Ships'. You'll have to spell it out."
The on-coming vessel proved to be a tramp of about 1500 tons—the S.S. Denham from Bilbao to London. She was steaming at about eight knots. The Golden Vanity, bowling along at seven knots under all plain sail, was moving in practically the opposite direction. Consequently the two craft were about to pass at an aggregate speed of nearly eighteen land miles an hour.
Up went the Golden Vanity's "number"—four flags indicating her number. As soon as this was acknowledged, another hoist of four flags proclaimed her port of departure, followed by her destination. Then came a request to report her to her owners.