The Voyage is Resumed
The boat lay riding to her kedge at less than twenty yards from shore.
She was in not more than two feet of water. Peter would not risk
bringing the boat closer inshore, lest, with her full complement, she
would grate over the coral and so injure herself.
Mahmed was first on board, his duty being to assist the two lascars to
hoist Preston over the gunwale. This operation was successfully
performed without even a groan or a gasp from the injured man, and the
lascars returned to carry the portly Mrs. Shallop through the water.
They had a difficult task this time, for the lady confessed to twelve
stone, and probably tipped the scale at fifteen. Nevertheless the
lascars tackled the job with such a will that their energy was more
than sufficient.
Mrs. Shallop began to rock. The oscillations continued until in
desperation she clutched at the head of one of her bearers. At the
same moment his feet struck a particularly sharp patch of rock. Never
"strong on his pins", and additionally handicapped by an unequal share
of his fifteen-stone burden, the Indian found himself falling. The
prospect of being sandwiched between the sharp coral and the portly
mem-sahib was too much for his self-control. With a vigorous and
despairing effort he threw himself clear. The other lascar, unable to
maintain his charge, let Mrs. Shallop go with a run.
For some seconds she floundered in eighteen inches of tepid water, her
horrified features mercifully obscured from the onlookers by a
miniature waterspout. Before Mostyn could go to her assistance she
regained her feet. For a very brief interval there was absolute
silence. Even the lapping of the wavelets upon the shore seemed to
have ceased.
Then the storm broke. Mrs. Shallop's pent-up loquacity let itself
loose, after being kept under control for nearly forty-eight hours.
She stormed at the lascars until they took to their heels, but
fortunately they were ignorant of what she did say. Then she directed
her battery upon Peter, although he was quite at a loss to know why he
should be marked down in this fashion; while for vehemence her
expressions--to quote the immortal Pepys--"outvied the daughters of
Billingsgate".
Mostyn suffered the storm in silence. Most people in their passions
"give themselves away", and in this instance Mrs. Shallop's outburst
simply confirmed Peter's doubts as to the lady's claims to be a naval
captain's daughter.
But when Mrs. Shallop included Olive in her revilings Peter's square
jaw tightened.
"Enough of this!" he exclaimed sternly. "On board--at once!"
Mrs. Shallop hesitated, trying, perhaps, to find a flaw in the armour
of her youthful antagonist. For his part Peter kept his eyes fixed
steadily upon the infuriated woman, although he found himself inquiring
what he could do to enforce obedience should she prove obdurate.
The tension was broken by Preston's gruff voice. From where he lay in
the stern-sheets the Acting Chief could see nothing of what was going
on. One ear was covered with bandages, but the other was doubly sharp
of hearing. To him a refusal to obey lawful orders was mutiny, whether
it came from a dago, "Dutchie", or, as in the present instance, from a
blindly angry woman.
"You had one ducking by accident," he shouted. "You'll get another by
design--in double quick time--if you don't take your place in the boat."
It was high time, Preston thought, that he had a say in the matter. It
was a drastic step to threaten a woman with physical punishment, but
there were limitations to the patience and forbearance of himself and
his companions. A person of the explosive and abusive temperament of
Mrs. Shallop in the boat was not only an unmitigated nuisance but a
positive danger. Shorthanded as they were, they could not afford to
run the additional risk of being hampered by an irresponsible passenger
should they get in a tight squeeze, when the safety of all concerned
depended upon coolness, quickness, and unhampered action.
The prospect of another sousing quelled the termagant's spirit. Meekly
she waded to the boat and scrambled unassisted over the gunwale.
"Now, Olive!" exclaimed Peter. "To avoid a repetition of part of the
performance----"
He lifted the girl in his arms and carried her through the water.
By this time the lascars had returned, and the boat's complement was
now complete. The kedge was broken out and stowed, and under oars the
repaired craft headed for the open sea, where the dancing ripples
betokened the presence of a breeze--and a fair wind at that.
Peter was at the helm, with one hand grasping the tiller and the other
shading his eyes from the dazzling sunlight. The two lascars rowed,
while Mahmed, armed with the lead-line, took frequent soundings until
the boat had drawn clear of the outlying reefs.
"Way 'nough!" ordered Mostyn. "Hoist sail!"
While the Indians were engaged in this operation the Wireless Officer,
handing Olive the tiller, made a hasty yet comprehensive survey of the
bilges. Except for a slight leaking 'twixt wind and water, the boat
seemed absolutely tight. The canvas patches, reinforced as they were
with woodwork, were standing the strain splendidly and gave not the
slightest indication of leaking. Whether they would withstand the
"working" of the boat in a seaway was still a matter that had to be
proved.
"What's the course, old man?" asked Peter.
"Keep her at nor'-by-east," replied Preston. "Another thirty-six hours
ought to work the oracle."
"It's nearly a dead run," reported Mostyn, after he had steadied the
boat on her course.
"So much the better, s'long as you don't gybe her," rejoined the Acting
Chief. "Not so much chance of making leeway."
Peter saw the force of this contention, but that did not alter the fact
that of all forms of sailing "running" was what he least liked. It
soon became apparent that there were others who were of a similar
opinion, for, as the boat rolled heavily before the hot, sultry wind,
Mrs. Shallop and the lascars were quickly _hors de combat_, showing no
enthusiasm when the first meal on board for that day was served out.
Even Olive Baird, used as she was to sailing, felt the motion of the
boat uncomfortable. The light breeze was scarcely perceptible,
although it was making the sail draw well. Not only was the sun
pouring down with considerable strength, but the sea was reflecting hot
rays of dazzling light.
Already the island astern was a mere pin-prick on the horizon. Ahead
and on either beam was the now monotonous expanse of sea and sky.
Late in the afternoon a shoal of flying fish came athwart the boat's
course. Evidently they were being pursued, for they flew blindly,
several of them bringing up against the sail and dropping stunned upon
the thwarts.
"Dolphins in pursuit, I think," explained Peter, in answer to Olive's
question. "I don't know about that, though," he added after a pause.
"Look at that."
He pointed astern. Twenty yards away was the triangular dorsal fin of
a shark.
"The brute," ejaculated Olive, with a slight shudder. "I hope he goes
off soon."
But the girl's wish was not to be fulfilled. If the shark had been
chasing the flying fish he no longer did so. Perhaps he scented
promising and more satisfying fare, for without any apparent effort he
began to follow the boat, rarely increasing or decreasing the distance.
"Hang the shark," exclaimed Peter. "Here, Olive, is a chance to show
what a good shot you are."
He handed the girl his automatic. Without hesitation Olive took the
somewhat complicated weapon. Peter noted, with a certain degree of
satisfaction, that she handled it fearlessly, and at the same time with
proper caution. He had no cause to duck his head because of the muzzle
pointing in his direction.
"Don't forget to release the safety-catch," he said.
"I've done so already," rejoined Olive, pulling back the mechanism that
performed the double action of cocking the pistol and inserting a
cartridge into the breech.
It was not an easy target, even at twenty yards. Not only was the boat
yawing, but the dorsal fin of the shark was constantly on the move.
The pistol cracked. Mostyn, intent upon preventing the boat from
gybing, had no opportunity of seeing the result of the shot. The girl,
replacing the safety catch, handed the weapon back to its owner.
"Missed it, I'm afraid," she said. "But there's one good thing--the
shark's disappeared."
"Scared stiff, if not hit," rejoined Peter. "Do you mind hanging on to
the tiller, while I clean out the barrel?"
The day wore on. At six o'clock Peter roused one of the lascars, and
told him to take on for a couple of hours. Already the tent had been
rigged amidships, while the jib--useless, or nearly so, while
running--had been employed as a sun-screen for Preston.
The sun sank to rest, its slanting rays turning the hitherto blue sea
into a pool of liquid, ruddy fire, that gave place to a spangled carpet
of indigo as the long undulations reflected the starlight. Away in the
west the young moon was on the point of setting. It was the sort of
sub-tropical evening that made the discomfort of the open boat pale by
its soothing influence.
At eight Peter "took over". He had no desire for sleep, and was quite
content to keep watch until relieved at dawn by one of the lascars; but
he was somewhat surprised to find that Olive was likewise disinclined
to turn in.
They watched the crescent moon dip behind the horizon; they saw the
stars pale as a slight mist rose from the waters of the Indian Ocean,
and the starlight give place to a darkness broken only by the feeble
rays of the binnacle lamp.
By this time the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze on the port
quarter, and there was no longer any risk of gybing. The erratic
movement of the dead run had given way to the steadier "full and bye",
with sufficient "kick" in the helm to make steering a pleasure rather
than a monotonous routine.
Suddenly the boat quivered and heeled over to starboard. The shock was
sufficient to rouse the sleepers.
"Aground!" exclaimed Olive.
Peter put the helm down. The boat responded instantly to the action of
the rudder.
"No," he replied. "We've hit something. Wreckage, perhaps."
"It's a fish!" declared the girl, as with a trail of phosphorescence a
huge object darted under the keel and disappeared in the darkness.
"That shark."
"Or another one," rejoined Peter. "There's one blessing: it isn't a
whale. Chup rao!" he called out to the jabbering lascars.
In two or three minutes the awakened members of the boat's crew had
relapsed into slumber. Peter swung the boat back on her course, and
handed the tiller to the girl.
"I'll have a cigarette, if you don't mind," he said.
"And one for me, old thing, while you are about it," added a bass voice
from the stern-sheets.
"By Jove, Preston, I thought you were sound asleep," remarked Peter, as
he placed a cigarette to the Acting Chief's lips.
"Keeping an eye on you, old thing," retorted Preston, with brutal
candour, then in a lower tone he added.
"Don't say a word to the girl, but I believe we've sprung a leak. Hear
that? It's not the water lapping the boat's sides. It's water
trickling in fairly fast. Put a lascar on with the baler. That ought
to keep it under until we can see what's wrong."
"Right-o," rejoined Mostyn.
He began to make his way for'ard, moving cautiously past the tent in
which Mrs. Shallop was breathing stertorously. But before he could get
to the nearest of the three Indians a wild shriek rent the air.
For the moment Peter was under the mistaken impression that he had
trodden upon the sleeping form of Mrs. Shallop, but his fears on that
score were corrected by the lady exclaiming:
"We're sinking. I'm in the water. Let me out! Let me out!"
It was some time before the Wireless Officer could release the woman.
She had laced the flap of the improvised tent from the inside,
finishing up with a wondrous and intricate knot. In the darkness the
task was even more difficult. Peter solved it by wrenching one side of
the canvas away from the gunwale, and was rewarded by being capsized by
the impact of Mrs. Shallop's ponderous and decidedly moist figure.
Meanwhile Mahmed, acting upon his own initiative, had lighted the lamp.
By the uncertain light Peter found that his fears were realized. Water
was spurting in through a rent in the canvas patch on the gar-board
strake.
A long, pointed object attracted his attention. It was the beak of a
large sword-fish. The creature had come into violent contact with the
boat, driving the formidable "sword" completely through the temporary
planking, two thicknesses of heavy canvas, and the intervening padding
of clay. The bone had broken off short, but the worst of the business
was that the sudden wrench had split the piece of elm forming the
outside of the patch, and through the long narrow orifice thus made,
gallons of the Indian Ocean were pouring into the boat.
Desperately Peter strove to wrench the sword clear of the hole. It
swayed easily enough, but no amount of force at the Wireless Officer's
command enabled him to remove the long, tapering horn.
"Bale away!" he exclaimed to the lascars, who were inertly watching
their sahib's efforts to free the swordfish's formidable spike. "Bale,
or we'll sink."
"If you can't pull it out, push it back, old son," exclaimed Preston.
Glancing up, Peter found the Acting Chief in a sitting position,
supporting himself with one hand grasping the after thwart.
Mostyn acted upon the advice, but he proceeded warily. It was a fairly
easy matter to knock out the sword with a metal crutch--it was merely
driving out an elongated wedge--but the question arose whether any
display of force would prise the temporary planking from its fastenings.
At last to his satisfaction he felt the horny spike giving. After that
it moved easily. Peter pushed its point completely clear of the boat,
but the next instant the water poured in with redoubled violence, a
phosphorescent waterspout rising a good eight or ten inches above the
kelson.
Seizing a piece of canvas Peter wedged it into the gaping hole. The
inflow was appreciably checked, but in order to withstand the pressure
it was necessary for some one to hold the "stopper" in position, until
repairs of a more substantial nature could be effected.
Calling to one of the lascars, Peter bade him carry on with the
plugging process.
Hot, wellnigh breathless, and spent with his exertions, Peter sat up.
He glanced aft. The feeble light from the binnacle showed him that
Olive was at the helm, calm and collected. Throughout the anxious five
minutes she had kept the boat on her course with the skill of a
master-mind--a vivid contrast to the hysterical woman whose incapacity
in a tight corner belied her oft-repeated statement as to her naval
forbears.
And during that five minutes the breeze had freshened considerably.
Already the seas were breaking viciously, their white crests showing
ominously in the darkness. Another peril faced the crew. Could the
badly strained and leaking boat withstand the onslaught of the
threatened storm?