The boatswain passed over the thwarts and joined his comrade of the past night’s work, stood looking down for a few moments, and then took off his cap and scratched one ear.
“You young gents had better come and have a look,” he said; “you had the designing on it.”
The boys did not wait for a second invitation, but hurriedly went forward, to find that their scheme had acted far beyond their expectations, for the fans of the propeller had wound up the thick soft cable so tightly that the opening in which the fish-tail mechanism turned was completely filled with the tightly-compressed strands
of rope, so that Poole suggested that all that needed was to get hold of one end, and then as soon as the steam was well on to reverse and wind the cable off in a similar way to that in which it had been wound on.
“Hah, to be sure,” said the boatswain, giving his leg a sailor’s slap, “there’s nothing like a bit o’ sense, Mr Poole, sir; that nice noo Manilla cable’s been twisted round my heart, sir, ever since it was used, and made me feel quite sore. Nothing I hates worse than waste.”
“It wasn’t waste,” said Fitz, impatiently. “You might just as well say the bait was wasted when you have been fishing. Don’t you get something good in return?”
“Ah, but that’s fishing, young gentlemen, and this aren’t,” said Butters, with a very knowing smile.
“Not fishing!” cried Fitz. “I think it was fishing. You used the cable, and you’ve caught a gunboat.”
“But s’pose we’ve got the gunboat and the bait back as well, how then?” cried the boatswain. “Look ye here, my lad, I’m going to have that there end of the cable taken a turn round the steam-capstan, and as soon as the chaps have got full steam on, the screw shall be turned, and we’ll wind it off fine and good as noo.”