Leading Stoker Brown obeyed the order almost too promptly. Like a jack-in-the-box he leapt up the steep ladder and stood—his crimson robes fluttering in the breeze—upon the deck. As one the crowd of children gave back, the young ones clinging tearfully to their parents.
“Sixpence to the first girl who shakes hands with Father Christmas!” announced Kenneth.
No one accepted the invitation.
Father Christmas, awkwardly shifting his well-laden bag from one shoulder to the other looked appealingly and reproachfully at his superior officer.
“Will I get sixpence if I shake hands with Father Christmas?” asked a red-haired freckled boy of about seven.
“Certainly,” replied Kenneth, guessing that if the ice were broken the rest of the children would overcome their fears.
“Go shake ‘ands wi’ Fayther Christmas, Jimmy lad!” prompted his mother.
The youngster, with his arms behind his back and his feet planted sturdily apart, calmly scanned the burly figure of the disguised leading stoker.
“Eh, mither!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t you tell me Fayther Christmas came down the chimney and put that engine in my stocking the morn? If that’s Fayther Christmas, he be too girt to come down our chimney. There’s a catch in it somewheres. All right, maister,” he continued, turning to address the midshipman. “Gimme the sixpence an’ I’ll do it!”
Kenneth gave him the coin, which he promptly handed to his father with the warning to remember that it was “my sixpence not yourn!”
Then, fearlessly he went up to the discredited Father Christmas and extended his hand.
“Put it there, mate!” he invited, using an expression he had learned from his elders.
Emboldened by the boy’s example, the other children, first singly and then in groups, made friends with the now perspiring Father Christmas, who was soon distributing oranges from his sack as fast as he could. They swarmed round him, tugging at his crimson robe in their eagerness, until an over-excited lad jerked the leading stoker’s false beard from its insecure anchorage.
Amidst shouts of laughter from his messmates and the elder guests, Brown beat a hasty retreat to discard his transparent disguise.
After that things went with a go. The forehold was filled almost to overflowing, Wilson and the bowman carved, while Kenneth, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, handed round plates with the deftness of a conjurer. A tot of rum apiece loosened the tongues of the men, and soon the guests young and old were chattering—when they weren’t eating and drinking—to their hearts’ content.
After dinner games were organized, Leading Stoker Brown, now thoroughly and willingly resigned, taking the rôle of elephant and giving the children rides up and down the hold.
At one end of the hold the men foregathered, smoking tobacco that had never paid and would never pay excise duty, while the womenfolk sipped tea “mellowed” with something stronger.
The atmosphere grew so thick that it could almost be cut with a knife; but the youngsters, accustomed to playing in hovels heated by peat fires, continued their games with unabated zest. They insisted on their hosts joining in until sheer fatigue compelled the brawny seamen to desist.
When, at four o’clock, Kenneth announced that it was time for his guests to pack up, the children and the elders reluctantly took their departure, voting that the party was the most successful ever participated in by the inhabitants of the Mutches.
“Thank ‘ee kindly, sir!” exclaimed the man to whom the midshipman had originally given the invitation. “The kiddies have enjoyed themselves no end. Now, I suppose, you’ve got to take the schooner away. It’ll hit us hard—there’s no saying that it won’t—but we knows that dooty is dooty, and we can’t bear you no ill-will for carrying out orders.”
And a few minutes later Kenneth and his crew were left alone amidst the chaos of piles of dirty crockery and the debris of the feast.
An hour’s hard work and the task of washing up and getting the hold into some semblance of order was completed.
Then Raxworthy gave orders for the picket-boat’s motor to be started and preparations made to take the schooner in tow.
By this time night had fallen, but the storm had completely died away, and a full moon was approaching its zenith.
It was now seen that the Marie Lescaut was lying in a small harbour, the main or seaward entrance to which was entirely hidden by the high ground on either side. The subsidiary channel through which the picket-boat had been providentially driven by the gale was likewise hidden from Mautby outer harbour, and consequently the light cruiser Kirkham could neither be seen from the deck of the Marie Lescaut nor could the Kirkham see the schooner.
“Now I’ll have to explain matters to the commander,” thought Kenneth. “He’ll probably raise Cain because I haven’t got into touch with the ship before now, but there’s one blessing—he can’t spoil my Christmas Day now!”
The next question was how to get the schooner into Mautby inner harbour. It was too risky to attempt the short cut; so the midshipman decided to tow her seaward, skirt the extremity of the Mutches—the lighthouse would warn him off the outlying dangers—and gain the harbour by the buoyed channel.
Then the question arose: was the seaward entrance to the little haven free from shoals? Consulting the Frenchman’s chart Kenneth came to the conclusion that the channel ought to be feasible, although great caution was necessary. If he piled the Marie Lescaut upon a rock the consequences to him would be very serious. On the other hand he dare not leave the schooner anchored where she was until a working crew could be obtained from the Kirkham, because the Frenchmen, if they were hiding on one of the islands, might regain possession of her in the interval and take her to sea. Once outside the three-mile limit she would be immune from arrest.
“I’ll risk it!” decided Kenneth, and gave orders for the schooner’s anchor to be hove short ready for the vessel to be taken in tow by the picket-boat.
The clank of the windlass had hardly started when a boat appeared upon the moonlit waters. For a moment Raxworthy thought that the crew of the Marie Lescaut were returning to take forcible possession of their vessel; but the now familiar voice of the fisherman boomed over the intervening space.
“Shall I pilot you out, sir?” he inquired. “One good turn deserves another, all the world over, and you’ve done our bairns proud!”
The midshipman gratefully accepted the offer. Even though it did not relieve him of the responsibility he realized that the risk of the schooner running aground was greatly reduced, since the man knew the channel thoroughly. Unless he purposely set the Marie Lescaut ashore, in order to prevent her capture.
Kenneth confided his doubts to the coxswain.
“That’ll be all right, sir,” rejoined Wilson. “You take him aboard you. I’ll remain in the schooner and we’ll tow his boat astern until we’re clear of here. He won’t dare try any tricks while he’s in the picket-boat. Mind you, sir, I don’t think he’s that. He’s proper jonnick—that’s my opinion.”
The fisherman made no objection when this plan was proposed to him. Directly the anchor was a-peak the Marie Lescaut was abandoned by all, with the exception of the coxswain, whose duty it was to steer the schooner in the picket-boat’s wake.
Slowly the latter gathered way, her motor running steadily and now showing no indications of “konking out”, while the schooner at the end of thirty fathoms of stout hawser followed sedately in the picket-boat’s wake.