At last, with a sigh of relief, the midshipman saw that his charges were well outside the Mutches and beyond the ten-fathom line. Here the tow was temporarily cast off in order to put the voluntary pilot back into his own boat.
Once more the towing hawser was secured and the long, circuitous journey to Mautby Harbour was resumed.
At seven-thirty the picket-boat and her tow passed under the Kirkham’s stern to be greeted with the customary hail of: “Boat ahoy!”
“Passing!” shouted the midshipman in reply.
They were so close that Kenneth could hear the look-out man reporting to the officer-of-the-watch.
Suddenly the moon appeared from under a cloud, revealing the fact that the towing craft was the light cruiser’s picket-boat that had been given up for lost.
“Schooner ahoy!” came a peremptory hail from the Kirkham. “What schooner is that?”
“Marie Lescaut of Fécamp, sir; placed under arrest by Kirkham’s picket-boat,” shouted Wilson in reply.
For some moments there was silence. Evidently the officer-of-the-watch was reporting the matter to the commander.
Then came another order:
“The schooner will anchor two cables off. Picket-boat to return to Kirkham immediately.”
“That’s torn it!” thought Kenneth, who had hoped to bring the Marie Lescaut into Mautby inner harbour and to report on board on the following morning. “That means I’m going to have a ticking-off on Christmas Day after all!”
The towing hawser was cut loose, and the picket-boat ran alongside the schooner in order that the hands could give assistance in bringing the prize to anchor. Then, having hoisted a riding light on the Marie Lescaut and taken Wilson off, Raxworthy brought his craft alongside her parent ship.
“Returned for duty, sir!” reported the midshipman to the officer-of-the-watch.
“And about time, too, my young festive,” rejoined the latter. “Commander wishes to see you at once.”
Midshipman Kenneth Raxworthy’s interview with the Bloke was of a very different nature to that of his previous one. That had lasted only a few minutes; this more than an hour.
In fact it was barely an interview. It was more like a narrative. The commander listened intently, occasionally drumming his finger tips upon the top of his pedestal desk—a favourable sign, as more than one midshipman had cause to know.
Then, as evidence, Kenneth produced the broken link of the steering chains.
The commander examined the fracture, and then placed the link on the table without comment.
“Carry on, please!”
Kenneth did so until the end of his narrative, omitting no essential detail.
“Well, Mr. Raxworthy,” said the Bloke at the conclusion of the story, “your capture of the schooner is a feather in our cap. Undoubtedly the Marie Lescaut is the smuggling vessel that has been giving so much trouble, and you have laid her by the heels very neatly. It will be at least a fortnight before the prize court will deal with her. I have a recollection that I jammed your Christmas leave. That was an error on my part. I’m sorry. How about ten days’ leave from to-morrow?”
“Thank you, sir!”
“You’ll be in time to join your chum Whitwell for Boxing Day,” continued the Bloke, with a twinkle in his eye. “Then you can apologize to his people for having to refuse their offer to spend Christmas Day at Kindersley Manor, and tell them from me that it was the fault of that old buffer of a commander!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Kenneth again, and as he hurried to the gun-room to enjoy a good night’s rest before going on leave, he said to himself:
“My luck’s in, this time, by Jove! Dashed if the old buffer of a commander isn’t a thundering good sort after all!”
PART II
THE PIRATE JUNK
“Send Midshipman Raxworthy, sir!” suggested the commander hopefully.
“Why should I send my senior midshipman?’ countered the captain plaintively, almost petulantly.
“It would give him a chance to let loose some of his high spirits,” replied the Bloke, who was only too glad of a possible opportunity to free himself from his thorn in the flesh, in the person of Mr. Midshipman Raxworthy.
Yes, the midshipman in question was a bit of a problem even for the fiery-tempered commander to manage. It was something like the task of trying to harpoon a floating cork with a blunt fork. He might succeed in “putting the midshipman under”, but Raxworthy invariably succeeded in bobbing up again “as fresh as paint”.
It wasn’t that he was insubordinate, or anything of that sort. Raxworthy had a great reverence for discipline, but, somehow, and often through circumstances beyond his control, he found himself up against the Bloke who, in turn, imagined that the midshipman was everlastingly trying to get to wind’ard of him.
“I suppose so,” agreed the Owner. “Apparently the job to which he is to be lent requires considerable initiative and discretion.”
“Raxworthy has plenty of initiative,” the commander hastened to assert.
“And discretion?”
“I know of no midshipman with a better sense of that, sir.”
“What about Timpson?” inquired the captain, who still showed a disinclination to fall in with his subordinate’s suggestion.
“He’s all right while he’s under my eye, sir,” replied the Bloke. “Outside the ship I don’t quite know how he would shape. In lending a snottie we have to be careful to see that the one we choose doesn’t reflect discredit upon the ship.”
“Exactly,” agreed the Owner warmly. “Very well, then; make it so!”
The nature of the request was a somewhat unusual one. It came—through the commander-in-chief of the China Squadron—from the lieutenant-commander of the shallow-draught river gunboat Sandgrub, asking for the loan of a midshipman as soon as possible, and for an indefinite period. The reason given was that Sandgrub was about to proceed up the Yang-tse on particular service, details of which were already known to the admiral, since he had given orders for the gunboat to proceed up the river.
The admiral didn’t want to spare any of the midshipmen in the flagship—midshipmen in the flagship are ornamental and also necessary satellites to the planetary omnipotence of the admiral—so he scribbled on the document, “Referred to you for immediate compliance”, and had it sent on to the captain of the light cruiser Ripon, in which Midshipman Raxworthy was “borne on the books”. And Ripon was the admiral’s choice as she was not one of the China Squadron, having been temporarily detached from the East.
The commander, having gained the point, retired from the captain’s cabin and made his way to his own.
“Ha, Pay! you’re just the bright lad I want,” he exclaimed, as he encountered the paymaster-lieutenant outside the wardroom. “Do you know of any passenger steamers about to leave here for Shanghai. We’re sending young Raxworthy to Sandgrub, and I don’t suppose the admiral will dispatch a destroyer for the purpose of conveying a snottie from Hong Kong to Shanghai.”
The paymaster-lieutenant considered the question. He, like all officers of the Accountant Branch, was supposed to be a sort of perambulating encyclopædia. He usually was, especially on matters concerning the King’s Regulations and Admiralty Instructions.