Chapter Six.
Alone on the Ocean.
“All very fine for you, my lads,” grumbled the coxswain, “but see what a wetting I got.”
“Vandean, my lad,” whispered the lieutenant, “that idea of yours saved us,” and he caught and pressed the lad’s cold hand. Then aloud: “Now, my lads, get the oars in under the thwarts, so that they don’t float out, and then you, Dance, and you, Tom Fillot, in over the side and begin baling.”
The boat was floating with its gunwale level with the water, and the two men had only to press the side a bit and literally roll in, to squat down and begin baling; for, to the great delight of all, it was found that the locker in the bows was unopened, though full of water, and a couple of tin balers were fished out from amidst some tackle. Directly after, working with all their might, the men began to make the water fly out in showers.
Meanwhile the oars were collected and thrust down into the boat beneath the thwarts, along with the hitcher, and the rest of the little crew held on by the gunwale outside.
For a time this seemed to remain level with the surface, but the two balers toiled so hard that in a short time the lieutenant turned to Mark, and said shortly—“In with you.”
The lad looked at him in wonder, but junior officers have to obey, and he crept in over the side, and getting right aft, began to scoop out the water with his joined hands.
A quarter of an hour later a fresh order was given, and two more men got into the boat to seat themselves and take the balers, while the pair who had been acting prepared to get out again and hang on.