"Why did you want to waste a good coil of inch tarred rope?" he demanded.
The Welshman's face went a vivid scarlet. The game was up.
He had lassoed a huge twisted branch, one that had been brought down by the mighty Amazon and carried miles out into the wide Atlantic, and had let the gaunt timber tow astern at the end of 113 fathoms of new rope.
"So you thought you were pulling my leg," rejoined the Second. "I'll admit it was a very passable spoof. It did look like a sea-serpent, especially in the eye of the sun. You didn't count on my sending for Captain Corbold?"
"No, sir."
"I thought not. That put the wind up you, my lad. No wonder you slipped the rope. I fancy I'd have done the same myself, if I'd been in your place."
"Sorry, sir," said Davis.
"Don't mention it," replied the Second. "You've still got to reckon with the Old Man!"
But Strachan, probably realizing that not so many years had passed since he was a high-spirited cadet, held his peace.
By devious ways the story reached the ears of the Old Man, but the names of the two delinquents were not mentioned. Captain Corbold thought deeply over the matter, and realized that the less said about it the better. At all costs he didn't want to see an account of the hoax appear in the Press.
The entry in the log was erased.
Soon the Old Man had other matters to occupy his attention.
CHAPTER XV. The Finish of the Race
Variable winds and alternating calms lasted until the mountainous coast of Brazil rose above the horizon.
Eight days had elapsed since the Golden Vanity and the Blue Bird had passed each other. During that interval no sign of the latter had been seen, although a look-out was stationed on the fore cross-trees during the hours of daylight.
By noon the entrance to the magnificent harbour of Rio, with the famous Sugar Loaf standing out clearly against the background of blue mountains, hove in sight.
Until four in the afternoon the Golden Vanity beat up the entrance. Then the wind dropped, leaving the ship wallowing in a long swell.
To the cadets in particular nothing was more exasperating. With port in sight and the prospects of leave ashore, they were doomed to yet another night of strenuous activity before the anchor was let go. For strenuous activity it had to be, since the expected land breeze would mean frequent short tacks.
Presently Geoff, who was standing within a few feet of Second Officer Strachan, noticed that individual level his glasses and keep them focused upon the south side of the harbour. After a while Strachan lowered his binoculars, wiped the lenses and again directed them shorewards.
"Kelso, old son!" he exclaimed in a low voice. "See what you make of that!"
The Third levelled a telescope.
Curiosity prompted Geoff to pick up a pair of binoculars from a spare compartment of the signal locker. He, too, trained them shorewards.
To his surprise he had quite miscalculated the distance. The curve of the ocean still intervened between the base of the cliffs and the ship. The rugged coast was thrown into deep shadow by the rays of the setting sun.
For the best part of a minute Geoff scanned the shore in an endeavour to discover what had aroused the two officers' attention. Suddenly a moving object came into the field of his binoculars. It was the canvas and topsides of a ship under all plain sail bowling along under a strong breeze. The sails appeared to be black and hardly discernible from the background of shadow-enshrouded cliffs.
"The Blue Bird for a dead cert," he heard Strachan exclaim. "She's done us, laddie. She's sneaked round from the south'ard. Better pass the word to the Old Man."
Captain Corbold was soon on the scene. As soon as he had picked out his rival he consulted a chart.
"She'll have to stand off to weather those islands," he declared. "Likely as not that'll take her into the patch of calm. We may get to wind'ard of her yet."
It was supreme optimism. The Golden Vanity, fifteen miles from the mouth of the harbour, was utterly becalmed. The Blue Bird, perhaps five miles from land, was favoured with a spanking breeze. The odds looked pretty hopeless.
Sunset found the Golden Vanity still becalmed.
"Up sidelights," ordered the Second Officer.
The ship was then snugged down for the night. Almost everyone on board was convinced that as far as the impromptu race was concerned, the Golden Vanity was out of it. Darkness set in—a starless night with an enormous glare in the western sky to mark the position of the as yet unattainable city of Rio de Janeiro.
Dawn brought with it an unexpected sight. The Blue Bird lay becalmed at about a mile to the nor'ard of her position when last sighted by the Golden Vanity. Apparently the wind had failed her soon after sunset, and she, like her rival, had been drifting all night.
With the rising of the sun all possible shadow of doubt concerning the Blue Bird was removed. To the old timers in the Golden Vanity she was almost as familiar a craft as their own.
The hands were at breakfast when a shout of "A breeze!" brought them pell-mell on deck. Grub or no grub, they were not going to throw away a possible chance of at least decreasing the distance between the two ships. The breeze was dead aft. In a trice the rigging was black with men as they rushed aloft to loose royals and main skysail.
Soon the Golden Vanity, with every stitch of canvas set, was logging twelve knots; yet, strange to relate, the breeze appeared to keep but a mile or so ahead of her. Beyond was a belt of flat calm, and as yet the Blue Bird had not been overtaken by the wind. She lay "like a painted ship upon a painted ocean", with her creamy canvas mirrored in the placid water.
Her people had noticed the approaching breeze. Nor could they be unaware of the presence of the Golden Vanity bearing down upon them under an enormous press of sail. Her crew were swinging the yards and bracing them close up to be ready for the first puff. Three miles to lee'ard of her lay the narrow entrance to the harbour, with Fort São João to port and Fort Santa Cruz to starboard. Between these fortifications was the imaginary line to mark the finishing point of the race. The Golden Vanity had five miles to run to her rival's three.
A far-flung gust caught the Blue Bird aback, heeled her until her weed-covered underbody showed glistening in the sun, shook her till her canvas flogged. She commenced to gather stern-way.
But the Blue Bird's skipper knew his job. Smartly manoeuvring with head and mizzen yards, he soon had his ship under control. She forged ahead, turning under full weather helm until she was on a parallel course to that of the Golden Vanity, and with a useful lead of about half a mile.
Both ships were now on a dead run for the harbour's mouth. There were several craft, mostly steam, dodging about. Those under power promptly kept out of the way, according to the Rule of the Road.
A whaler, manned by four oarsmen and three men in the stern sheets, imprudently tried to cut the leading ship off. The Blue Bird, by a slight change of helm, missed the boat handsomely. The whaler then attempted to head off the Golden Vanity, her crew yelling out in broken English that they were the pilots. The Vanity also missed them by a couple of boats' lengths, leaving the whaler rolling and pitching in her wake, with the coffee-coloured Brazilians uttering unintelligible maledictions at the sublimely indifferent Captain Corbold.