To attempt to secure the boat would be sheer madness. Nor could she be left threshing the poop-deck like a gigantic flail.
Someone, hanging on to a life-line, slid across the deck to the mizzen fife-rail. It was Kelso.
"Got your knife?" he shouted, but his voice was only just audible above the turmoil. "Good; now listen. Bear a hand and cut away the other fall; but look out for yourself and stand clear. Understand?"
The pair fought their way along the life-line to the weather side of the poop. Then they edged aft past the empty davit to the one from which the boat still hung. Then Geoff understood why it was a two-man job. Kelso, heavier and more powerful than he, had to hold him on while he severed the three-inch rope.
Right under the stern of the boat Geoff, the breath literally squeezed from his lungs by the pressure of the wind, set to work. Vaguely he wondered what would happen when the flogging mass of woodwork was released. If it failed to be blown clear it would crush him like a fly under a brickbat.
But the job had to be done. Fortunately, the cadet was very careful about the state of his sheath-knife. Its edge was almost as keen as that of a razor.
With a swift back-handed cut he severed the single part of the falls. The boat was hurled to lee'ard, narrowly missing the spanker-boom, and all but crashing into the starboard quarter-boat.
It took some seconds for him to return the knife to its sheath. As he did so, he recalled a "wigging" he had had from the Chief Officer. It was only a day or two ago. He had been caught cutting a piece of marline with the blade turned towards him, and had been "ticked off" for using his knife in such a lubberly way. Now he understood why such importance had been attached to what seemed a very trivial matter—but was not.
Together Kelso and he fought their way back to the lee of the mizzenmast.
"Will she weather it?" asked Geoff anxiously.
The Third answered reassuringly.
"'Course she will," he replied. "'Fraid you'll have to stick it. There's no chance of the watch being relieved while this is on. Hallo! What's that?"
Rising above the roar of the elements came a succession of whip-like cracks somewhere from for'ard. Then a vivid flash of lightning lighted up the scene. The foretopmast-staysail had carried away, possibly through the clew-cringle bursting. Already the stiff canvas was flogging itself into ribbons.
So much Geoff saw in the sustained flash. Then the glare vanished, leaving him temporarily blinded.
When the next flash occurred Third Officer Kelso was no longer with him. For a brief instant Geoff was afraid that his officer had been swept overboard. Then he saw Kelso working his way for'ard and urging some of the hands to the task of securing the remnant of the sail and setting another in its place.
Again an interval of intense blackness. By degrees the flogging of the remnant of the foretopmast-staysail ceased. Kelso and his men were tackling their task with the customary grit and determination of British seamen, literally hanging on tooth and nail over the plunging bows of the ship, their work rendered doubly difficult by reason of the jibboom having been run in during the process of "snugging-down".
A burly figure slid across the deck and brought up by the mainmast.
"That you, Ensor?" inquired the Old Man.
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Then nip for'ard; see how things are shaping and report. Hang on like billy-ho!"
There was no need for that warning. Geoff knew what would happen if he didn't hang on. Taking advantage of a roll to wind'ard he hauled himself to the weather rail and thence to the head of the poop ladder. As he did so he noticed that the two helmsmen were lashed to the wheel, the wheel itself being secured by stout ropes since, being hove-to, the ship had no longer to be steered.
Flattening himself against the ladder, Geoff made the descent. Then he worked his way for'ard, often waist-deep in water. Often he had wondered why that part of the ship was called the "waist". Now he knew; it was because it was apt to be that depth in water.
As he passed the cadets' quarters he wondered what his chums and Bernard in particular were doing. Obviously sleep under existing conditions was out of the question. They could only wait behind the bolted steel door hazarding as to what was going on outside. The din within must have been appalling. The cuddy must be in darkness. No friendly gleam shone through the scuttles. Then it dawned upon Geoff that the dead-lights had been fixed in position—another tribute to the terrific force of the hurricane.
Under the break of the fo'c'sle Geoff encountered a number of men dragging what appeared to be a gigantic sausage. It was the spare staysail they were hauling for'ard.
To the Third Officer Geoff delivered his message.
"We're about to bend the staysail," replied Kelso, bawling into Geoff's ear. "Timpson's smashed his arm. We've managed to get him below. If you can get hold of Strachan ask him to bring the first-aid box along. That's all. How's the glass?"
Geoff had to reply that he did not know.
Kelso turned away to superintend the setting of the reefed staysail. The cadet battled his way back to the poop and reported the state of affairs for'ard.
Slowly the hours sped. It was a continual hammering, a grim battle with the elements. Again and again the Old Man glanced at the compass. The ship's head, in about three hours, had swung through eight points. Her bows were now dead on for the lee-shore, possibly twenty miles away—less if the drift exceeded the skipper's calculations.
At length Kelso returned aft and the weary hands of the watch were able to snatch an uncomfortable "stand-easy".
"She's lying-to nicely, I fancy," he remarked to the Old Man.
The words were hardly uttered when a tremendous jar shook the ship. To Geoff it felt as if she had hit a rock. Her head began to pay off. In spite of the backed main-topsail she commenced to forge ahead.
"Up helm!" ordered Captain Corbold.
The two men at the wheel cast off the securing ropes. To their surprise the wheel turned easily. There was little resistance.
Dumbly they turned towards the Old Man and pointed to the useless steering gear.
The Golden Vanity, her rudder carried away, lay helpless in the grip of the hurricane.
CHAPTER XXI. And After
It was a dreadful predicament. To take in all sail and let the ship scud under bare poles was out of the question. For one thing, it was utterly impossible for men to go aloft. They might be sent aloft, but they would never succeed in battling their way up the hurricane-swept shrouds. For another, without means of steering the ship could not be kept before the wind. Until the seas moderated there was no chance of rigging up a jury-rudder.
The ship was now yawing frightfully, alternately coming up almost into the eye of the wind, and then paying off until the backed upper and lower topsail threatened to fill, the while huge seas swept inboard, breaking with wellnigh irresistible force against the steel deck-house and sending showers of spray far to lee'ard. It seemed a miracle that the deck-house and the cadets sheltering within it were not carried bodily overboard.
Fortunately for him Geoff had taken a turn round his waist, and had lashed himself to the mizzenmast. His senses were dazed by the terrific pressure of the wind. He was just conscious of the creaking, groaning mast, and wondering whether it would be carried away. He was breathing with difficulty, for not only did the securing lashings cut into his body, but the air was so dense with salt moisture that he could but gasp like a stranded fish.