“I believe it will tumble all to pieces,” cried Carey, mischievously.
“If she do I’ll eat my hat,” growled Bostock. “Let’s have her in and chance it, sir. Mebbe if she falls topsy-wopsy we can get the capstan to work and turn her back again.”
“Well, we’ll try,” replied the doctor.
“Come on then, sir,” said the old sailor, picking up the capstan bar again; “and you stand well back, Master Carey. We don’t want to break you again if she topples over.”
The boy drew back and the levers were thrust in beneath, and once more the raft began to move inch by inch outside the gangway.
“Both together, sir,” cried the old sailor; “easy it is—heave ho—heavy ho—steady—ay, oh! One, two, three, and a cheerily ho! One more, sir. Two more, sir. Yo, ho, ho, and lock out; over she goes!”
For the clumsy structure was hitched on and on till it was pretty well on the balance. Then a couple more touches did the business, for the half projecting through the gangway began to sink, overbalancing more and more till all at once, after hanging for a moment as if suspended in the air, it plunged outward, falling with a tremendous splash, sending the spray flying in all directions; and then, to the delight of all, after seeming to hesitate as it rose, turning over and floating high out of the water and right way up.
Carey gave a hearty cheer, while Bostock threw down his capstan bar with a rattle on the deck.
“Play up, you lubber!” he shouted to an imaginary fiddler, as he folded his arms and then dashed off in the sailor’s hornpipe, dancing frantically for a couple of minutes, and ending with three stamps and a bow and scrape.
“Now then,” he cried, panting hard with his exertions, “did she tumble all to pieces, sir? I knowed better than that.”