They worked turn and turn about. Their wrists were numbed by the jarring of the knife, their hands were blistered by the unaccustomed task of wielding the heavy mallet. The deeper they cut into the wood the slower was the progress made.
Then, to add to the disadvantage under which they laboured, the sheath knife snapped close to the hilt. Geoff's knife was of the clasp variety and quite inadequate to the task. The blade was so narrow that it sank completely into the gash already cut by his chum's sheath knife.
"P'raps if we slack off the remaining shroud the weight of the mast'll finish the trick," suggested Bernard. "Stand by. I'll tackle the rigging-screw."
He found a somewhat precarious footing and faced outboard in order to get to the rigging-screw. As he did so he caught sight of a ship under all plain sail at a distance of about a mile dead to wind'ard.
According to popular notions Bernard ought to have waved his cap and shouted in transports of joy: "A sail! A sail! We're saved!"
But he did nothing of the sort. For quite a quarter of a minute he looked admiringly at the unusual sight of a ship under all plain sail; decided that the Arran Dhu lay well in her track and that, more than likely, the look-out in the on-coming vessel had sighted the derelict long before he—Bernard—had seen her.
He glanced down over his shoulder at his chum, who, unwilling to waste a moment, was diligently resharpening his knife with one of the rusty files.
"Knock off that," exclaimed Bernard in ordinary tones. "Knock off and look to wind'ard. There's a sight for you!"
CHAPTER VI. Rescued
Enthusiasm at the decidedly unusual sight of a full-rigged ship under all plain sail made Bernard Woodward forget the plight of his chum and himself. His immediate surroundings seemed to fade away. Clinging to the heaving and steeply listing deck of the Arran Dhu, he did nothing but feast his eyes upon the unexpected and inspiring vision.
The on-coming ship was bowling along, sailing free on the starboard tack. Judging by the "bone in her teeth"—the double bow-wave of white foam far-flung from her sharp clipper bows—she possessed a good turn of speed. Her hull was black with a broad white band. Her straining canvas showed a pleasing brownish hue against the slanting rays of the sun. Save for the fluttering of her headsails her spread of canvas set like a board—a tribute to the almost lost art of square-sail making.
On she came unswervingly until the chums could hear the sounds of crisp orders coming down-wind. To them they were unintelligible. There appeared to be no response.
Then, with a sudden but unhesitating motion the ship commenced to circle under full port helm. Canvas slatted, blocks creaked, yards groaned. The ship, a few minutes earlier a swiftly moving mass of symmetry and grace, was now pitching to the seas, devoid of way and practically stationary. She was, in nautical parlance, hove-to, her square sails being trimmed in such a fashion that some acted against the others. A landsman would wonder why under that press of canvas, the vessel would not drift rapidly to lee'ard, lying well down to the freshening breeze. Actually she lay-to as quiet as the proverbial lamb.
Out swung one of the lee'ard quarter boats. An officer and three men jumped into her. She was lowered with a run; the falls were slipped.
Then came another surprise. The chums, watching the manoeuvres, were quite prepared to see the oars shipped and to hear the crisp orders "Give way!" But nothing of the sort! How the crews of the old Blackwallers and China Tin Clippers would have rubbed their eyes at the spectacle! Instead of having to depend upon ash oars the boat was provided with a prosaic lump of metal attached to the transom. In other words an outboard motor.
At the third attempt the engine fired with a rapid succession of "tinny" explosions. The officer raised one arm as if in pleasurable surprise that the motor had succeeded in functioning. The painter was cast off and dropped into the boat's bows. She gathered way, steadied on her course, and bore down upon the derelict Arran Dhu, her progress watched by a couple of score of interested spectators manning the ship's side.
As she drew near Bernard noticed that the three men were rigged out in nondescript garments affected by the "hands" of the Mercantile Marine. The officer was in uniform—salt-stained pea-jacket and trousers, the former with tarnished gold buttons. Tilted on his head was a battered peak-cap with a weather-stained badge.
He was a youngish man of about twenty years of age, sturdily built. His features were tanned by exposure to the sun and the salt-laden breezes of four of the five oceans. Beneath heavy, regularly arched eyebrows his greenish-grey eyes looked keen and alert. They gave one the impression of being able to take in a critical situation at a glance, and to decide upon a rapid and intelligent course of action. The hand that grasped the vibrating tiller of the outboard motor was, Bernard noticed, huge, strong, and capable-looking—one that, if occasion arose, could be used with numbing effect in a "scrap".
Calculating the boat's way to a nicety, the young officer switched off the ignition and brought the craft almost alongside to the wind'ard of the beam-ended Arran Dhu. Therein he showed that his judgment was not at fault; for although under normal conditions boarding to lee'ard is the usual procedure, the danger of the boat being struck by the heaving motion of the yacht's mast, made it imperative that the wind'ard side should be chosen.
"Stand by and fend off!" he ordered crisply; then, addressing the chums, he expressed his opinion that it was a "proper lash-up".
"It is, sir," agreed Geoff. "Can you lend us an axe? We've been trying to cut away the mast. She'll float on an even keel if we do."
"Sorry, young fellah-me-lad," replied the officer, with a cheerful grin. "We're not tree-cutters and timber fellers. 'Sides, with the wind piping up she won't keep afloat much longer. Get your gear together. I'll give you five minutes."
"Sounds like a U-boat commander's ultimatum," rejoined Bernard.
"Might," agreed the officer. "Can't say for certain. That was a little before my time. . . . Get a move on! Twenty seconds gone already."
It was an order that, however genially conveyed, left no doubt that it was an order, and, as such, had to be obeyed.
The chums slid down into the slanting cockpit and wriggled into the cabin. They stepped knee-deep in water. Sodden settee-cushions and a medley of other gear, including Geoff's kit-bag, were moving sluggishly in the gurgling, filthy bilge-water. Bernard's "traps" were, fortunately for him, stowed on the lee'ard berth. Naturally of a tidy nature, he had taken the precaution of placing most of his personal belongings in his kitbag. Geoff, on the other hand, had left most of his things lying about. He was now frantically engaged in retrieving them, groping in the water for hairbrush and comb, toothbrush, socks, and shoes, underclothing and portions of his garments he had shed just before the yacht had inconsiderately dropped her keel. All these he grabbed and rammed unceremoniously into his kitbag, adding blankets and oileys to leaven the lump.
"Got everything?" inquired Bernard laconically.
"Hope so," replied his chum.
For the last time they hoisted themselves over the steeply shelving side of the companion, pushing their bulky kitbags in front of them.
Then, kneeling on the slippery deck they heaved their belongings into the waiting boat, and prepared to follow.