"I guess I don't want to say anything that these gentlemen needn't hear," he declared, indicating the Chief, Kelso, and half a dozen cadets. "What's the value of your ship an' cargo, Captain?"
The Old Man told him. Evidently Abraham Y. Sylvester meant business.
"Wal, I calculate you'd get sixty thousand dollars salvage for towin' the Lorelei into Nassau; so on the face of things my claim for services rendered will mean 15,000 dollars to the good. Now, don't cut in with high-falutin' talk, Captain. Just you keep mum, till I've had my say. Supposin' you do get the yacht into Nassau; what do you say to 40,000 dollars for your owners an' ten thousand to be shared out by you and your crew? Is that a deal?"
Captain Corbold hesitated. He feared that, in the vernacular, "there was a lemon on it". The American had bargained for a tow and he, as master of the ship offering assistance, was within his legal rights to close without having to wait to obtain confirmation from his employers. That was all very well in its way, but where did the counter-claim come in?
"I understand, Mr. Sylvester, that you are lodging a claim for professional assistance in putting out the fire?"
To the Old Man's surprise and to that of everyone within earshot, the American shook his head.
"Nope," he declared, "I'm not asking for a cent. But that ain't saying I'm not out for my pound of flesh! See here; you'll boost Sylvester's Universal Fire Quencher on the other side of the Herring Pond for all you know how. Also you'll let my friend here—Silas P. Fearon of the Noo York Mail—have a free hand at writin' up one of the greatest sensations of the year: how Sylvester's Universal Fire Quencher saved a British ship after being battered by a tarnation hurricane and then blazin' like a Fourth of July celebration. Got me?"
"There's no need to make a song about it," protested Captain Corbold. "We just carried on."
"I reckon you'd a' carried on to Davy Jones in a matter of a few hours," remarked Abraham Y. Sylvester. "That's you Britishers all over. You never like the chance of a good boost when it's shoved under your noses. Say, can we fix up the deal right now?"
Captain Corbold still considered the matter. After all it was primarily a case of making good terms on the part of the owners. The American had been extremely generous.
"Right, sir," he agreed. "Only don't pile it on too thick in the papers."
The Lorelei's owner grinned.
"I guess Silas P. Fearon'll see to that," he replied. "Wall, I reckon we'll be just as comfortable on the yacht as on board here, Captain, seeing that your accommodation aft ain't quite as slap-up as I thought. What's that, Fearon? Oh yes, if you wish. Captain What's-his-name——?"
"Corbold—John Corbold," announced the owner of the name.
"Yep," continued the American crisply. "Captain Corbold'll give you a shake-down. That will get your copy fixed up sure. Now, Captain, I'll go back to the yacht right now."
As Third Officer Kelso prepared to follow the American into the waiting boat, the Old Man called to him.
"See that a grass-warp is bent to the yacht's hawser, Mr. Kelso," he cautioned. "Warn them to give us plenty of slack to play with. I'll work up to wind'ard of her, so pass the hawser roundly."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the Third, then dropping into the boat he ordered Geoff to "start her up".
The Lorelei's owner, having been returned on board his own craft, the Golden Vanity's cutter forged ahead and took in about fifty fathoms of light grass-warp, the other end of which was bent to the yacht's hawser.
Then the cutter waited.
Warned by the Third to stand by to restart the outboard motor smartly, Geoff was now at liberty to watch an unusual and decidedly smart bit of manoeuvring. The Golden Vanity, hampered by having a jury-rudder, was about to take the disabled yacht in tow.
Round swung the sailing-ship's main and main-topsailyards. The hitherto flattened canvas filled; she commenced to forge ahead. It was a stirring sight. Once before Geoff had seen the Golden Vanity under sail, other than from her deck. That was in the grey dawn of a cloudy day in the English Channel. Now, bearing few visible outward signs of the double ordeal through which she had passed, she stood out against the blue, cloudless sky as she slowly made her way through the turquoise-coloured water.
Four long tacks she made, sailing with the wind only one point for'ard of the beam. Under jury-rudder the Old Man would not risk pointing her any higher.
"She'll do it next board!" declared Kelso. "Start up, Ensor. Dead slow astern."
Slowly yet surely the cutter gathered sternway, one of the boat's crew paying out part of the grass rope as she did so. It was wet work, for, although the sea was comparatively calm, the boat's stern plunged heavily, throwing spray completely over the motor and the cadet who attended to it.
"At that!" ordered Kelso, then "Easy ahead!"
Geoff had all his work cut out. Failure of the engine at this juncture meant a tedious repetition of the manoeuvre. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the jibboom of the Golden Vanity projecting high over his left shoulder. Above the pop-pop of the motor he could discern the hiss of the ship's bow wave.
"Ease her down!" shouted the Third.
Geoff shook his head. The engine was throttled down as much as he dared. To decrease the tiny flow of petrol into the combustion chamber would inevitably result in the sudden stoppage of the engine.
"Go astern, then!" shouted Kelso.
The cutter trembled under the sudden reverse action. The hand for'ard, making ready to hurl one end of the grass rope on board the ship, almost lost his balance. But the object was achieved. The Golden Vanity, romping parallel to and about ten yards from her cutter, had now overhauled the latter.
"Ahead!" ordered the Third, then, "make a cast, there!"
The bowman hurled the coils by means of a powerful underhand swing of his right arm. Like a gigantic spring uncoiling itself the rope fell athwart the Golden Vanity's starboard quarter.
Then, to a stentorian roar of "Roundly, there, roundly!" from Captain Corbold, a dozen men began hauling in the slack as hard as they could.
"Go astern!" shouted Kelso again. Then, the cutter's part of the manoeuvre accomplished, she backed clear of the tautening rope.
Now came the climax of the business. The Golden Vanity was making about two knots through the water and was about to overstep the motionless, disabled yacht. By the time the former's stern drew level with the Lorelei's bows not only had the grass-warp to be brought on board, but the end of the towing hawser as well.
Not only that. The towing hawser had to be bent to a chain-pendant, that was passed round the mizzenmast and "bitted" to bollards on either quarter. The end of the pendant and the hawser had then to be hove overboard by the time the strain of the tow was taken up by the vessel towing.
The ship's taffrail hid this part of the operation from the boat's crew. Geoff could picture the scene; the hands sweating at the stubborn cable, working against time to bring it to the shackle of the pendant. Then—
"All fast, sir!"
"Stand clear there! Together: surge away!"
With a loud splash the end of the pendant with the hawser bent to it fell overboard, fortunately clear of the jury-rudder. It was not a second too soon. Already the bight of the heavy tarred rope was rising from the water. Would it part, or would the towing bitts carry away?
"Lorelei ahoy!" hailed Captain Corbold. "Ease off handsomely there!"
The hawser jerked, sagged, and jerked again. The yacht forged ahead and settled sedately in the wake of the ship—cripples limping for home.