Then, suddenly leaping to his feet, shaking Bill Blunt furiously as he arose, the mate stared towards the schooner and cried, with arm flung out:
"Ain't she moving? Is she—Holy smoke, it's us!"
"We 'm adrift all right, sar," agreed Blunt, scrutinizing the schooner, which was now close aboard and growing visible.
Both men ran to the lines, Rolfe forward, Blunt aft, and now the mystery of those twanging hawsers was clear. The ropes hung down into the water, and the Barang moved on the stream until she was almost rubbing alongside the schooner, on whose decks men enough were visible now.
"Aboard the Padang!" shouted Rolfe. "Catch my lines, will you? We're adrift."
"Sheer off," came back the answer, and the voice was full of menace. "Anchor, you no-sailor! Fight your own troubles."
"By Godfrey, I'll fight some o' you, soon's I get fast," roared the mate furiously, and stumbled to the windlass.
The anchor Vandersee had dropped in midstream in docking the ship was on a long cable, and the Barang was gliding swiftly down over it. His men were at hand, but Rolfe needed little time to decide that it would be quicker to bring up on a fresh anchor than to heave in enough of the first chain to snub her way. He started to cast off the shank-painter of the second anchor, when Bill Blunt's hoarse bellow pealed from aft.
"Hey, Mister Rolfe, she's sinkin'!"