The morning wore on. The fog held persistently, and although the wind had fallen considerably there was a confused sea running outside. This was evident by the terrific roar of the breakers which almost outvoiced the fog-signal from the lighthouse at the seaward end of the Mutches.
Debating as to whether it would be possible to get to the lighthouse and ask the keepers to communicate with the Kirkham by wireless, Kenneth came to the conclusion that such a step was impracticable unless the request was conveyed by a shore boat. So far no boat from the island had appeared.
The hands then set to work to brush the snow from the deck of the Marie Lescaut and also from the picket-boat. While they were thus engaged the fog lifted locally and for the first time the men noticed that bunches of holly had been fastened to the schooner’s mastheads.
“The Frenchies meant to have a proper Christmas beano,” remarked the bowman. “It doesn’t seem jonnick that we’ve done them out of a bust-out! I remember once in the old Endymion——”
The sailor’s reminiscences were interrupted by a hail of “Boat ahoy!”
Going to the side, Kenneth caught sight of the misty outline of an open fishing boat that was stealthily approaching the Marie Lescaut. There were two men in her, both standing up and facing for’ard, pushing at their oars instead of rowing in the usual fashion.
Hearing the hail from the schooner the men laid on their oars but made no attempt to reply to the midshipman’s request to take a letter to the lighthouse.
“I’ll take nowt from you, maister!” was the blunt rejoinder. “If you want to send message to lighthouse tak it yoursen!”
“Right-o, then, I will,” declared the midshipman, knowing perfectly well that he was quite unable to do so. “So you’ll take nothing from us? Not even our best wishes for a happy Christmas?”
Raxworthy meant this for mild sarcasm, but the way in which it was received by the fishermen was decidedly illuminating.
“You brass-bound gawks wish us a merry Christmas!” retorted one of the men wrathfully. “Dost call thysen a sportsman interfering wi’ a man’s livelihood on Christmas Day of all days. An’ what’s worse you be right spoilin’ the bairns’ feast! Go an’ boil your ‘ead. You’ll not be gettin’ me nor mine to fetch an’ carry for you!”
Then Kenneth began to tumble to it. The fishermen did not know that the picket-boat had been disabled and had been carried into the little harbour by the force of the gale. They were under the impression that the naval men had boarded the schooner knowing her to be a smuggler. Carrying out this duty on Christmas Day was regarded by the islanders as a particularly outstanding example of bad faith. To their minds it was as iniquitous as shooting rabbits on that day on which by custom as well as by law rabbits are protected.
The midshipman was not going to undeceive the surly fishermen by explaining that the picket-boat was disabled and had been forced to seek shelter by running alongside the French schooner. But what puzzled him was the man’s reference to “spoiling the bairns’ feast”. That no doubt accounted for the preparations in the hold of the Marie Lescaut—the partly laid table for a score or more guests.
“Don’t shove off yet,” he called out as the men prepared to return to the still invisible beach. “I don’t want to spoil the kids’ party or whatever it is.”
“If boardin’ yon vessel ain’t spoilin’ the one chance the bairns have of a Christmas treat, what is?” rejoined the spokesman. “After the cap’n ‘ad gone to all that trouble, too.”
“Where is the captain?” inquired Kenneth.
“Whur he be an’ nowheres else,” replied the fisherman resentfully. “That’ll be his business and nobbut else!”
“I won’t press for further information on that point,” continued the midshipman. “I was merely trying to find out the motives that prompted the skipper of a French trading schooner to provide Christmas fare for the children of the village to which you belong. And I quite agree with you that it must be a terrible disappointment to the kids to have to miss their treat.”
“That’s what we think, sir,” remarked Petty Officer Wilson. “Couldn’t we take the place of the Frenchmen pro tem. It strikes me we aren’t going to get out of here for another eight or ten hours at least.”
“Capital idea!” agreed Kenneth.
He was feeling in high spirits. A most satisfying meal following an almost miraculous escape from death had cheered him up considerably. There were other circumstances tending in the same direction—the jammed steering-gear, for instance. He would be able to vindicate himself before the commander; meanwhile, since the commander had stopped him participating in Christmas festivities with Whitwell at Kindersley Manor, he would give a Christmas party on his own account—although at someone else’s expense—and risk what the Bloke said about it afterwards!
Kenneth beckoned the fishermen to come alongside. Not without some hesitation they rowed a few strokes and then lay off at a distance of about ten yards.
“Look here, you men,” explained the midshipman. “As the schooner is suspected of carrying contraband I’ve put her under arrest. If she isn’t a smuggler then the captain and crew have nothing to fear. They’d better report at Mautby Custom House on the day after to-morrow. And I wouldn’t for one moment suggest that you are hand-in-glove with a crowd of foreign smugglers—so you’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
The two fishermen grinned. They knew perfectly well that the midshipman was pulling their legs.
“Now as regards the children,” continued Raxworthy, “I don’t propose to remove the Marie Lescaut until the fog lifts and the sea moderates, so there’s no reason why the kids and their fathers and mothers and aunts and uncles shouldn’t have their party on board.”
“Now you’re talkin’ right handsomely, sir!” interposed one of the fishermen. “I allus said navy officers were gen’lmen!”
“Except when you call them brass-bound gawks!” corrected Kenneth cheerfully.
“I tak that back, sir,” announced the spokesman. “Wot you’ve said about the bairns havin’ their feast makes all the difference.”
“Now we are falling in with the Christmas spirit,” continued Kenneth. “At what time was Captain What’s-his-Name giving his little party?”
“Twelve till four, maister.”
“Good! Bring the kiddies aboard just before noon and we’ll do our best to back up our absent friend, Captain—what is his name, by the bye?”
The fisherman smiled knowingly.
“Keep pleasure apart from business, sir!” he rejoined. “If you don’t mind we’ll leave the Cap’n out of this friendly little talk. Right yer are, sir; just afore twelve, then!”
“Splendid! We’ll be ready!”
There were yet several hours before the time fixed for the arrival of the guests, but every moment of that interval was fully occupied.
Wilson and the bowman set to work to complete the decoration of the hold while the midshipman, with no small faith in his ability as a cook, boiled the Christmas puddings which the crew of the Marie Lescaut had left in readiness for the feast.
Then the picket-boat’s crew had breakfast.
Strictly speaking, they had no right to help themselves; but in the circumstances necessity in the form of hunger knew no law. The captain and crew of the schooner had deserted their craft, and the most of the food they left would soon go bad if unused.