Crossing over to where the helmsman stood, Setchell jigged him on the arm.
"I'll take her," he said. "Nip off and get a smoke!" Which was a direct breach of discipline, but the two cadets—"two minds with but a single thought"—had already agreed to risk the consequences.
The man, nothing loth, relinquished the wheel and disappeared in the starlight. Davis, too, had vanished, diving down the poop-ladder as soon as he knew that the helmsman had agreed to the other cadet's proposal.
It was a calm night. The Golden Vanity was making very little more than a couple of knots—perhaps not that—just sufficient to allow her to answer to the helm.
From beneath the break of the poop came a hoarse whisper:
"Can you see it?"
Setchell, who had put the helm slightly over to starboard, replied that he could not. "It," whatever it was, was masked by the bows of the ship.
"You're dead on it," continued Davis. "Up helm! Keep her at that!"
There was a gentle scuffling noise, then a faint thud followed by the well-known sound of new rope rasping over metal. The rasping continued for nearly five minutes; then silence broken only by the gentle plash of the ship's bow waves.
Presently Davis reappeared on the poop.
"Fixed it," he reported mysteriously. "Better warn Wilson!"
There were distinct aural evidences that the Second Officer had finished his cocoa, so the helmsman was warned that it was about time he "carried on".
When Strachan reappeared the two cadets were performing their watch-keeping duties—which for the present consisted of pacing the weather side of the poop—as unconcernedly as ever.
Dawn broke over the tropical sea. In a few minutes it was broad daylight. The wind, previously light, had died utterly away, leaving the ship rolling sluggishly, with her dew-sodden canvas slatting noisily.
Davis came aft to report "Lights down and all correct!"
The Second Officer received the information without comment, and glanced aloft at the idle canvas, wondering whether he would order t'gallant sails to be set before the watch was changed.
"Think we'll have a breeze soon, sir?" asked Davis, as Mr. Strachan facing for'ard looked down in a preoccupied manner at something near the foot of the poop-ladder.
The Second turned and shot a quick glance at his questioner.
"You seem like a cat on hot bricks this morning," he rejoined. "What's the matter with you? Why this abnormal interest in the weather? Look here, my man, if you want a job to keep you busy, I'll find you one in double quick time."
Davis retired as gracefully as circumstances permitted. Setchell threw him an inquiring look. The Welshman shrugged his shoulders.
Apparently the Second Officer lost interest in the waist, and resumed his steady perambulation of the poop-deck.
Presently, while the sun was only a few degrees above the horizon, a faint breeze shook the sails. The canvas shivered and filled. Once more the Golden Vanity's stem threw up a bow wave.
"Beg pardon, sir!" exclaimed Setchell, going up to the Second Officer. "What's that astern?"
Strachan glanced aft, searched the skyline.
"Astern—where?" he asked. "Any sail in sight?"
"No, sir; a cable's length astern," replied the cadet. "Right in the eye of the sun."
"I've got it," declared the Second.
"What is it, sir?" asked the cadet.
Strachan made no immediate answer. He stood gazing at a long sinuous object lazily swimming in the ship's wake, or rather, cutting across it in a series of diagonal lines yet without either definitely gaining or losing distance. Occasionally its head, a fearsome horned affair, would dip beneath the surface. Anon the writhing tail would stand six feet or more above the water, the while its speed was sufficient to throw up a double column of foam. It was difficult to distinguish either its colour or shape owing to the dazzling sunlight; but, whatever it was, it was a marine monster of quite fifty feet in length and totally unlike any creature known to scientists.
"Go and inform Captain Corbold," ordered the Second Officer.
"Do you think it's a sea-serpent, sir?" asked Setchell.
"Go and inform Captain Corbold," ordered Strachan for the second time.
The cadet departed with manifest reluctance. As he passed Davis that worthy made a wry face but discreetly held his peace.
It was not long before the Old Man, attired in pyjamas, uniform cap and canvas shoes, was on the poop.
Nor did he arrive in solitary state. By some means the "buzz" went round the ship that the oft-doubted never-authenticated sea-serpent had done the Golden Vanity signal honour by swimming in her wake.
"Go and bring me my camera!" ordered the Old Man, addressing Senior Cadet Fairclough, who with Bernard and Geoff formed part of the crowd of spectators. "'Luff her a bit, quartermaster; let's see if we can get the brute out of the eye of the sun."
"Mainsail haul!" shouted Strachan. "Lee braces, there!" The ship was turned two points closer to the wind—as high as she could possibly sail without shaking. The sea-serpent, with only a slight delay, took a sheer and dived.
"It's off!" exclaimed a dozen voices.
A moment later the thing reappeared, rearing its horned head ten feet or more above the surface.
"Got him, by George!" ejaculated the skipper, snapping the shutter of his camera with unnecessary force. "That'll confirm the entry in the log, Mister! Make a note of the time."
"It's full fifty feet long," declared one of the crew.
"Fifty—more'n a hundred," rejoined the Old Man. "Persistent devil, too. It'll be wanting to come over the side in a brace of shakes. It's gaining on us, Mister."
"I don't think so, sir," replied the Second.
"I tell you it is!" snapped Captain Corbold. "Cunning brute, too! It's dead in the sun's eye again," he added, as the sea-serpent made another sheer on a bearing from the ship's port quarter to the starboard. "Play with him, Mister, while I get my rifle!"
How Second Officer Strachan was expected to hold the sea-serpent in play was a point that the Old Man did not stop to explain.
Hurrying through the throng of cadets and hands who, in their excitement, had invaded the sacrosanct precincts of the poop-deck, Captain Corbold descended to his cabin, fetched a .450 rifle from under his bunk, fixed the detachable stock, grabbed a handful of ball-cartridges and returned aft.
All this took some time.
When he returned the sea-serpent apparently was bobbing in the long swell quite half a mile astern—an indistinct waving line in the sunlit water.
Had the Old Man been observant he might have noticed that Cadet Davis was no longer on the poop-deck. He had unobtrusively followed the skipper down the ladder, but very little farther.
But Second Officer Strachan had noticed the lad as he stole away. Strachan said little then, but thought the more.
"The brute's well away, sir!" he reported.
"'Course it would!" rejoined the Old Man. "No matter. I've a photographic record to do unbelievers in the eye. Whack it down in the log, Mister! Give a full description with no trimmings. I'll write a report, too. Don't forget: get three names as witnesses."
"Very good, sir!" replied the Second.
"Lay for'ard then!" shouted the Skipper, suddenly realizing that the poop resembled a bear-garden. "Lay for'ard. Let the hands trim sail, Mister. Yes, upper an' lower tops'ls. Let her romp!"
The Old Man returned to his cabin. The hands of both watches either swarmed aloft or stood by the main sheets and braces. This done, the men were "blown down", and the Golden Vanity's decks resumed their normal fair-weather aspect.
It was not until the Morning Watch was relieved at eight bells that Strachan called Cadet Davis to him.