CHAPTER XXXI
Picked up at Sea
"I'll attend to the leak, Peter," volunteered Olive. "That will leaveyou free to shorten sail."
"Topping!" exclaimed Mostyn. "Keep your foot on that pad of canvas.Don't press too hard or the whole gadget may carry away."
Reefing was a difficult matter, for the boat was driving heavily andthe canvas was as stiff as a board. Mostyn dared not risk lowering thesail. The little craft had to carry way to prevent her broaching-toand being swamped. It seemed incredible that in the short space offive or six minutes the hitherto calm sea should have worked up into acauldron of crested waves and flying spindrift.
In the contest with the elements Mostyn temporized. Putting the helmup slightly and easing off the sheet, he released the pressure on thecanvas sufficiently to enable Mahmed and the two lascars to take in acouple of reefs. At the same time the boat was travelling fast but waswell under control.
"Let's hope it won't blow any harder," thought Peter. "She won't standmuch more wind, and she'd break her back if she had to ride to asea-anchor."
One of the lascars came aft and reported that the reefing operation wascomplete. Peter put the helm down to bring the boat back on hercourse, when, with a report of a six-pounder quick-firing gun, thetightly stretched canvas parted. Cloth after cloth was rent in rapidsuccession until the severed sail streamed banner-wise before thehowling wind.
Somewhat to Mostyn's surprise and satisfaction the boat showed noinclination to broach-to. Possibly the fluttering canvas offeredsufficient resistance to the wind to enable her to answer to the helm.
The next task was to set the jib as a trysail. It was almost uselessto expect the lascars to do that. Their knowledge of boat-sailing wasvery elementary, having been gained in handling their native craft, andoccasionally the ship's boats under regulation rig and in charge oftheir British officers.
Ordering Mahmed to take Miss Baird's place at the leaking patch, Peterhanded the tiller over to the girl. There was no need to caution heras to what was to be done. She knew perfectly well that safetydepended upon her ability to keep the boat's stern end on to thefollowing seas.
Mostyn had no fears on that score. He knew the girl's capability inthat direction by this time. Thanking his lucky stars that he was notdependent upon the indifferent seamanship of the lascars, he wentfor'ard with the jib which Preston had to relinquish as a covering.
In almost total darkness Peter found the head and tack of the sail.Fortunately the split mainsail was still held by the luff ropes, thusenabling him to gather in the fiercely flogging fragments and securethe lower block of the main halliards.
To the latter he bent the head of the jib. It was now a fairly easymatter to hoist the diminutive triangle of canvas and sheet it home.
"She'll do," he exclaimed, as he relieved Olive at the helm.
The girl nodded in reply. She was too breathless to speak. Her briefstruggle with the strongly kicking tiller had required all the strengthat her command. There was, she discovered, a vast difference betweenthe long tiller of a well-balanced sailing dingy on the shelteredwaters of the Hamoaze, and the short "stick" of a heavy ship's boat onthe storm-tossed Indian Ocean.
Through the long hours till morning the boat ran before the storm.Never was day more welcome. At dawn the wind piped down and the seamoderated. The boat had made a fair amount of water, not only throughthe leaking patch, but over the gunwale, and, in order to keep the leakunder, one of the lascars had to keep his hand down on the canvasstopper while the other plied the baler. This they had to do turn andturn about throughout the night, and by dawn they were both pretty welldone up.
By nine o'clock, when the sun had gathered considerable strength, thewind had practically died away, and the sea had resumed a smooth aspectsave for a long, regular swell. Only a few ragged wisps of canvas andthe now almost idle and ridiculously inadequate trysail remained as areminder of the night of peril.
In vain Mostyn looked for signs of land. Nothing was in sight save seaand sky. To make matters worse, the boat, which in that light breezewould have made about three knots under her mainsail, was now barelycarrying steerage way. At that rate she might take weeks to fetchland--if she ever did so at all.
Breakfast over--it was a more substantial meal than their previous onesin the boat--Mostyn set the lascars to work to rig up jury canvas. Thedamaged mizzen-sail, that had served as a tent, was pressed intoservice, together with the tarpaulin. These were "bonnetted" together,bent to the gaff, and sent aloft as a square sail, with the result thatthe boat's speed increased perceptibly. Yet there was still a greatdifference between her normal rate and that under the jury canvas.
Smoking a cigarette after the meal, Peter let his thoughts run riot.He wondered what his parents were doing; whether they had had by thistime any report of the _West Barbican_. If so, were they mourning himas dead?
"Rather rough luck on them," soliloquized the youthful optimist; "butwon't they be surprised when I roll up again?"
Then his thoughts went to the Brocklington steel contract. He wonderedwhether the Kilba Protectorate officials had sent to Bulonga for theconsignment. It seemed to him rather an idiotic thing to do, to havethe stuff dumped down in that out-of-the-way hole, when the _WestBarbican_ might, with equal facility, have delivered it at Pangawani.Perhaps, after all, it was for the best. The stuff might have gonedown in the ship, in which case Captain Mostyn would be a ruined man.
The mysterious loss of the _West Barbican_ had been a source offrequent perplexity to Peter. He was thinking about it now, trying toput forward a satisfactory theory as to the cause of the explosion. Asfar as he was aware there were no explosives on board, a consignment ofgelignite, for use on the Rand, having been landed at Durban.
His reveries were interrupted by one of the lascars shouting: "Sail onport bow, sahib!"
Peter sat up. The foot of the improvised square sail intercepted theview for'ard. It was not until he made his way to the bows and stoodupon the mast thwart that he saw the craft which the lascar hadindicated.
She was still a long way off, only her canvas and the upper portions ofher hull showing above the sky line. At that distance it wasimpossible, without the aid of a telescope or binoculars (neither ofwhich was on the boat), to distinguish her rig or in which directionshe was heading. As she was a sailing craft, and, taking for grantedthat she carried the same wind as the boat, the chances were that shewould soon disappear from sight.
Nevertheless Mostyn meant to leave nothing undone that might attractthe stranger's attention. Rockets were fired in the hope that the louddetonation might be audible at that distance. The light they gave outwould be unseen in the terrific glare of the sun.
At Preston's suggestion strips of canvas were soaked in lamp oil andset alight at the end of the boat-hook. These flares gave out a densesmoke that rose to an immense height in the now still and sultry air.
For the best part of half an hour these signals were repeated atfrequent intervals. Then, to everyone's disappointment, the strangesail faded from view.
"It's not to be wondered at," remarked Preston. "You know what alook-out at sea is like; and, in any case, they don't keep a fellow onwatch to see what's coming up astern."
"They ought to," declared Olive.
The Acting Chief was sitting up, his back supported by some spareoilskins folded over the after thwart.
At the girl's retort he winked solemnly with the eye that was notcovered with bandages.
"Do we?" he asked. "Look astern now."
To the surprise of everyone else in the boat a large sailing craft wasbowling along dead in their wake. She was now a little less than amile away, and had evidently been attracted by the signals made to thecraft that had so recently been sighted in vain.
"A rum sort of packet, by Jove!" exclaimed Peter.
"A dhow, my sweet youth," explained Preston. "'Tisn't often you find'em so far south, but you'll see shoals of them up al
ong the coast fromMozambique and Zanzibar right up to the Red Sea and Persian Gulf.Clumsy-looking hookers, but they can shift."
It was Mostyn's first sight of an Arab dhow. He had seen plenty ofChinese junks in Shanghai whilst he was on the Pacific trade. Thiscraft reminded him of them, only its rig was more in accord withWestern ideas. End-on it was impossible to see that the masts raked atdifferent angles, but the well-drawing lateen sails and the "bone inher teeth" indicated that she was a swift craft ably managed. Even inthe light air she was moving at about six knots.
The Wireless Officer leant forward and whispered in Preston's ear.
"S'pose she's all jonnick, old man?" he asked.
"Sure," replied the Acting Chief. "The slave-dhow and the gun-runnerare as dead as the dodo in these parts. Probably she's a trader fromReunion, blown out of her course by the late hurricane. Nothing toworry about, old son."
"Right-o!" rejoined Mostyn, and ordered the lascars to lower the sailand to stand by with the painter.
By this time the dhow, which was coming up "hand over fist", was abouta cable's length astern. From the boat it was impossible to see thehelmsman of the overtaking craft, owing to the foot of the lateen sail,but in her low bows could be discovered three Arabs intently looking inthe direction of the now motionless little craft.
Presently a high-pitched voice called out an order. The hithertolistless Arabs for'ard sprang into activity. With a smartness thatwould have evoked admiration from the most exacting seaman, the lateenyards were lowered and squared fore and aft, while the dhow, stillcarrying way, ranged alongside the _West Barbican's_ boat.
"Any port in a storm," thought Peter, as the lascar for'ard threw thepainter into the hands of one of the Arab crew. "I wonder what we'rein for now?"