"Avast there!" cautioned the officer. "Wait till she lifts on the crest. Now, jump for it!"
They jumped, landing in undignified postures on the bottom boards.
"Shove off!" ordered the officer crisply. Then, under his breath he murmured, "I'll bet the old cow won't gee for toffee."
With this cryptic utterance, he grasped the handle of the flywheel of the outboard motor and pulled vigorously, repeating the process again and again, but all to no purpose, except for raising a large blister on his horny palms.
"Always said this darned box of tricks was a washout!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "Out oars, lads. Give way."
By this time the boat had dropped nearly a hundred yards to lee'ard of the abandoned Arran Dhu, and quite thrice that distance from the hove-to ship.
Eager to be of some assistance, Bernard and Geoff each manned an oar.
The officer, watching, said nothing at first, but finding that there was little to complain about their stroke, nodded approval.
"That's the ticket, my lads!" he remarked.
As the boat repassed the Arran Dhu Geoff looked regretfully at the derelict floating property of the absent Mr. Gordon.
"Wish we'd cut away that mast," he remarked to his chum. "We might have saved her."
"Mind your stroke there," cautioned No. 3, who had just received a blow in the small of his back from the loom of Geoff's oar.
Geoff took the rebuke with a murmured apology. From that moment he directed all his attention to his task, never even turning his head to look at the ship until the order, "Way 'nough! In bow!" informed him that the boat was close alongside.
All along the lee rail, heads were craned as their various owners stared down upon the new-comers. On the poop a mahogany-featured, uniformed individual, whom Geoff and Bernard rightly took to be the "Old Man", hailed the boat.
"Why didn't you run the motor, Mr. Kelso?" he inquired acidly.
"Konked, sir," was the terse reply of Third Officer Peter Kelso.
CHAPTER VII. An Interview with the Old Man
Feeling rather subdued under the detached gaze of the Old Man, Bernard and Geoff sat still and awaited developments. If the truth be told, they felt decidedly disappointed at their reception. No one raised a cheer at their rescue; no inquiries were shouted concerning them. All the Captain seemed to be interested in was the failure of the outboard motor to perform the task it was supposed to carry out.
One of the boat's crew came aft and secured the after-fall. Another had performed a like service with the for'ard one.
"All secure, sir!" sung out Mr. Kelso.
The next instant, with a sudden and decidedly jerky movement, boat and crew rose vertically from the surface of the water. With thirty odd hands tailing on to the falls, she simply had to come; and although a fairly heavy cutter her weight seemed that of a feather.
In a trice she was above the rail. Quickly she was swung in. Everything seemed to be done "at the run", and almost before they realized it the chums found themselves planted on the ship's well-scrubbed deck.
No one spoke to them. Half a dozen youths of various ages between fifteen and eighteen were grouped a few feet away. These youngsters gave them curious glances; that was all. Instead of finding themselves in the position of celebrities who had stuck to their ship until ordered to abandon her, Bernard and Geoff felt that they were being completely ignored, and treated as undesirable intruders. It struck them that, somehow, there was a flaw in the generally accepted idea of the "brotherhood of the sea".
"Ready all!" shouted the Old Man in stentorian tones. "Quartermaster; ease the helm down!"
Followed a scene that, as far as the chums were concerned, looked like a state of orderly confusion. Men were running hither and thither, each with a set purpose.
"Raise tacks and sheets!—Leggo t'gallant bow-lines!—Haul taut the main brace!—Mainsail haul!"
With a succession of groans the main-yards swung round. Canvas threshed in the wind, blocks creaked. Men "tailing on" to seemingly purposeless ropes "walked back", shouting cheerfully as they did so.
Interested, even astonished, Bernard and Geoff watched order being evolved out of what appeared to be utter chaos. The ship was no longer pitching. She was forging ahead, heeling gracefully to the quartering breeze.
"Head braces, there!—Brace up the main-yard!"
More trampling on deck, more heaving and hauling. Then the Old Man "seeing what there was, was good", turned to the Chief Officer.
"Carry on, Mister!" he ordered. Then, "Mr. Kelso?"
"Sir?" rejoined the Third.
The chums, standing but a few paces from the officer who had effected their rescue, figuratively pulled themselves together. Now, they concluded, they were to be objects of attention and discussion. They understood now that during the operation of getting way on the ship there was a good reason why they should have been ignored.
But no! Captain Corbold, Master under Providence of the good ship Golden Vanity, had another matter on his mind.
"Why did she?" he demanded.
To anyone unacquainted with Captain Corbold's little eccentricities, the question would seem to have been at least peculiar. But Third Officer Peter Kelso knew his skipper's vagaries pretty well. Captain Corbold had been Chief Officer in the Golden Vanity when Kelso first entered the Mercantile Marine on joining the same ship off Southend as a very raw cadet. He knew that all the time the Old Man was giving orders and getting way on the ship, the subject of the outboard motor had been at the back of his mind. Fifteen minutes had elapsed since Kelso had reported that the motor had "konked out"; and now, after that interval, came the question, "Why did she?"
"Can't say, sir," he replied. "She fired at the third pull when we cast off. She hadn't a kick in her when I tried to restart. With your permission, sir, I'll overhaul her in the First Dog."
The Old Man nodded concurrence. He rarely wasted words. His gruff manner and rugged appearance belied his real nature. Actually he was a sympathetic individual, who sought to hide his good deeds under a mask of dour reserve. He was a fine seaman of the old school, who believed in keeping the hands under strict discipline, but never set a subordinate to do a task that he would not tackle himself should necessity arise.
A week or so before the Golden Vanity left London River on the present voyage, Captain Corbold had been approached by an enterprising individual who proclaimed himself to be sole distributing agent for an American firm who had just put on the market what they claimed to be a sure fool-proof never-stop-unless-you-want-it-to outboard engine. With glib tongue and honeyed words the agent pointed out the desirability of this type of labour-saving device for use at sea, and offered Captain Corbold a tempting commission on all orders obtained on his recommendation. The Old Man, never reluctant to turn an honest penny, had broached the subject to his owners, Messrs. Whatmough, Duvant & Co., with the result that they purchased one of these outboard motors for use in the Golden Vanity's boats, and instructed Captain Corbold to report upon its merits or demerits as the case might be.
So far that engine had lived up to its makers' claims in two respects. When it could be induced to start it certainly went on running; but the difficulty lay in getting it to start at all. Also, it was fool-proof. But it was also expert-proof. Every officer on board, who knew anything at all about the theory or practice—or both—of internal-combustion engines had had a cut at it. Sometimes one succeeded in coaxing the thing to fire. When he did he stood erect to await the plaudits of the rest. But more often than not the outboard stubbornly remained silent and inert.