"what is the time, please, miss baird?" inquired peter.
"nine o'clock," replied olive, consulting her wristlet watch, the only one of five in the boat that had survived.
"too early for grub, then," continued mostyn "we must economize. and with water, too. it's going to be a scorching hot day."
he omitted to add that in all probability there would be a stiffish wind before long, possibly increasing to hurricane force. the thundery rain, coming before the wind, pointed to a severe blow before many hours were past. meanwhile the breeze had dropped until the boat was making less than one knot.
peter had practically shaken off the effects of his prolonged immersion. he was feeling a bit stiff in the limbs, and had developed a healthy hunger. the latter troubled him far more than the stiffness. work would relieve his cramped arms, but it would also increase the pangs of the inner man.
in the light breeze he could safely entrust the helm to one of the lascars, provided he kept his weather eye lifting in case a sudden squall swept down upon the boat. the native might or might not be able to handle a sailing craft, but peter was resolved to take no risks on that score. he would rather place olive at the helm, although in the event of danger he meant to stick to the tiller for hours if needs be.
"due east, mutli," ordered mostyn, having signed to the lascar to come aft.
the man nodded and repeated the compass course. since peter had displayed his automatic the pair of lascars had been remarkably tractable.
the wireless officer's next step was to rig up a tent to shelter the women from the blazing sun. calling mahmed to assist him, he lashed the unshipped mizzen mast to the mainmast just below the goose-neck of the latter, so that the boom could swing out in the event of a gybe without fouling the almost horizontal ridge-pole. the after end of the mizzen was propped up by a crutch made by lashing a couple of boat-stretchers crosswise. over this was spread the mizzen sail, the ends of the ridge-tent being enclosed by means of the jib and a couple of oilskin jackets.
"there you are," declared peter, surveying the result of the joint handiwork of mahmed and himself. "you'll be sheltered under the sail. i would advise you both to sleep during the heat of the day."
olive declined, with a smile, adding that she preferred to be in the open air. mrs. shallop hardly deigned to acknowledge the effort mostyn had made for her comfort as far as lay in the resources at his command.
she had not been under the tent for more than a minute, when she reappeared holding up a ring-bedecked hand for inspection.
"i've lost a diamond out of this ring," she announced in a loud voice; "and it's a valuable one. it cost a sovereign."
peter could not help smiling.
"whatever can one do with a female like that?" he soliloquized. "the loss of a twopenny-halfpenny stone is of more consequence to her than the chance of losing her life."
contriving to conceal his amusement he replied: "it can't have gone very far, mrs. shallop, if you had it in the boat. we'll probably find it under the bottom-boards."
"then make those blacks look at once," ordered the lady peremptorily.
peter pretended not to have heard the strident, imperious command. it would have been waste of breath to point out that the boat could not be searched without disturbing preston, and that the awkwardly placed bottom-boards could not be removed while the boat was under way.
with a parting shot at the young officer for his incivility, mrs. shallop retired to the tent and began to nag miss baird, who had shown no disposition to assist in the search.
"thanks, mr. mostyn," said the girl, when peter warned her of the heat of the sun. "i'm quite all right. you see, i took the precaution of wearing a topee when we were ordered into the boat. may i steer?"
for a second time that morning mostyn relinquished the helm. then, having seen that preston was as comfortable as possible, he sat on one of the side-benches and chatted to the helmswoman. even then he was not idle, for, on the principle that "you never know when it may be wanted", he took his automatic pistol to pieces and carefully cleaned the mechanism, sparingly oiling the working parts with a few drops of oil from the lamp.
"do you know how this thing works?" inquired peter casually.
"yes," replied the girl promptly. "you have to pull back the hammer for the first shot, and as long as the trigger is pressed the pistol goes on firing until the magazine is empty."
"i wonder how you know," thought mostyn.
he shook his head.
"this pistol doesn't," he explained. "some simply act automatically as long as the trigger is pressed. that's rather a drawback if a fellow's a bit jumpy. he's apt to let fly a hail of bullets indiscriminately. no! this pistol of mine cocks itself after every shot, and it requires another pull on the trigger to fire each of the succeeding cartridges."
"the one i saw was different," rejoined the girl. "it was my brother's. he was killed at ypres in '18."
peter politely murmured regrets, but inwardly he felt relieved that the fellow who had instructed olive into the mysteries of automatic pistols was only a brother.
just then preston roused slightly and asked for water.
"better, old man?" asked mostyn, as he poured a few precious drops into the baler, and held the rim to the acting chief's dry lips.
"hocussed an' sandbagged, that's what's happened to me," mumbled preston thickly. "where the hooligan harry am i?" and, with a sudden movement, he jerked the baler out of peter's hand.
the man was obviously still delirious. before mostyn could decide what to reply, preston shut his eyes and went to sleep again.
mostyn picked up the baler from where it had fallen under the stern-bench. a couple of spoonfuls of fresh water had been wasted.
"is that land?" suddenly inquired olive, pointing away on the port bow, where a low, dark line was just visible on the horizon, looking very much like a chain of serrated mountains.
"cloud bank," replied peter briefly. then in explanation he added: "there's wind behind that lot, miss baird; probably more than we want. it may head us too."
glancing into the compass hood to see that the girl was steering a correct course, mostyn rapped on the thwart immediately abaft the canvas shelter in which mrs. shallop was either resting or brooding over more or less imaginary grievances.
"we'll have to unrig the tent," he announced. "there's a stiff breeze bearing down on us."
"i don't like stiff breezes," retorted the lady promptly. "i'd rather have the tent up to keep the wind out."
"sorry," replied the wireless officer. "it can't be done. in two minutes the lascars will commence unrigging the tent."
mostyn allowed a good three minutes to elapse before signing to mahmed and the lascars to take down the canvas. it was an absolutely necessary step, in order to allow unimpeded access to the working canvas, should it be required either to reef the sail or stow it altogether.
having seen the task carried out, peter proceeded to rig up a sea-anchor.
"it may come in jolly useful," he remarked to miss baird. "if we don't want it i won't complain about useless work."
with the assistance of the three indians mostyn bent a rope span to the yard and boom of the mizzen sail. through the centre of each span he secured a stout grass warp, weighting the yard with the grapnel, so that, if it became necessary to ride to the improvised sea-anchor, the grapnel would keep the sail taut and in a vertical plane.
by the time these preparations were completed the bank of ragged-edged clouds had covered most of the sky to wind'ard. the sun was beginning to become obscured, while there was an appreciable drop in the temperature of the air. the wind had fallen away utterly, leaving the sail hanging idly from the yard. the water no longer rippled under the boat's forefoot. all was silent save for the creaking of the mast and spars as the boat rolled sluggishly in the long, gentle swell.
keenly on the alert, peter had taken over the helm, and was keeping a sharp look-out to wind'ard.
"down sail!" he ordered.
the canvas was lowered and stowed. as a precautionary measure mostyn had the sea-anchor hove overboard, trusting that at the first squall the high, freeboarded boat would drift rapidly until brought head to wind by the drag of the improvised floating breakwater.
"it's coming," said olive in a low voice, as a long-drawn shriek could be faintly heard—the harbinger of a vicious squall.
by now it was almost dusk, so dense were the clouds overhead. the tropical sun had no power to penetrate the sombre masses of vapour. less than half a mile to wind'ard the hitherto tranquil water was white with wind-lashed foam; while, in strange contrast, the sea-anchor was rubbing gently alongside the boat in the perfectly smooth sea.
louder and louder grew the volume of sound, until with a vicious rush the squall swept down upon the boat. for a few seconds, while she lay broadside on, the boat heeled to such an extent, under the wind-pressure upon her high sides, that the water was actually pouring in over the lee gunwale. then, spinning round as the grass rope attached to the sea-anchor tautened, the boat rode head to wind and sea.
in a brief space of time the terrific gusts had raised quite a mountainous sea, with deep troughs and short, sharp crests which, torn by the blasts into clouds of spindrift, flew completely over the boat. so far she had ridden it out splendidly, the sea-anchor breaking the more dangerous waves in a manner that was quite astonishing. yet the while the grass rope was snubbing wickedly in spite of its natural springiness. through the clouds of spray peter could see that the lascars for'ard were betraying considerable uneasiness lest the rope should part.
mostyn too realized the danger. he regretted that he had not doubled the rope, but now nothing could be done beyond putting a temporary "parcelling" round it where it passed through the bow fairlead.
more than once the wireless officer gave a hurried glance at miss baird. outwardly the girl seemed perfectly self-possessed, and, with her natural thoughtfulness, she was sitting on the stern-gratings and doing her best to keep the still delirious preston from sliding from side to side with the erratic and disconcerting motion of the boat.
the squall lasted for perhaps five minutes. then, after a lull, came another series of vicious blasts from a different point, that was almost at right angles to the direction of the initial squall. this had the effect of raising a nasty cross-sea, accompanied by a torrential downpour of rain.
suddenly, at less than a couple of cable-lengths to windward, appeared the misty outlines of a tramp steamer. she was labouring badly, rolling almost rail under and throwing up showers of spray high above her bridge.
standing up and keeping his feet with difficulty mostyn frantically waved to the vessel. mahmed followed his example and also hailed in his high-pitched key. shouting was useless. no volume of sound short of that of a fog-horn could possibly have carried that distance in the face of the howling elements.
the next instant the temporary clearing of the downpour gave place to a blinding deluge. the steamer vanished as utterly as if she had suddenly plunged to the bed of the ocean.
"has she seen us?" inquired olive, raising her voice.
"'fraid not," replied peter, still staring in the direction where he had last seen the tramp. "couldn't do much if she did in this dust-up. i'll risk a rocket, any old way."
some time elapsed before a rocket could be taken from its airtight case, and the touch-paper ignited. then with a hiss the detonating signal soared obliquely upwards, its intended course deflected by the terrific wind.
it burst at less than a hundred feet in the air, but the report was so faint and the flash so weak that mostyn could only reiterate his doubts as to whether the tramp could see or hear anything.
"it's lucky she didn't run us down," he added. "i know those blighters. they think they've got the whole ocean to themselves and carry on at full speed. in fog it's often the same, the idea being to get into better weather as soon as possible."
for another ten minutes it blew hard, but, thanks to the improvised sea-anchor, the boat was making very little leeway and riding head to wind. occasionally the crested tops of the cross-seas flopped in over the gunwale, and the two lascars were kept baling steadily. olive and mahmed were tending the still delirious preston, the former holding him to prevent further injuries to his badly damaged head, while the boy kept a strip of painted canvas over the acting chief's body to shelter him from the rain and spray. mrs. shallop was the only idler. refusing peter's offer of his oilskin, she sat huddled up on the bottom-boards, with the water swirling over her feet and her clothing saturated with the torrential rain. too dispirited to use her voice in complaint, she sat and shivered in morose silence, posing as a martyr and yet getting no sympathy from anyone.
at length the wind ceased, although the rain continued in violence. this had the effect of calming the water considerably, and peter took the opportunity of ordering the lascars to spread out the square of painted canvas, and catch as much rain as possible to augment the precious store of fresh water.
within an hour the sky cleared and the wind freshened into a one-reef breeze. the sea-anchor was taken in and sail again set; but there was the disquieting knowledge that the wind was dead in their teeth. either the boat must be kept "full and bye", gaining little or nothing on each tack, or mostyn must "up helm" and retrace his course on the chance of making the now far-distant mozambique shore, which meant that the previous sixteen-hour run was utterly wasted.
"if only we had a motor!" he exclaimed.
