“Excellent! Superb!” cried the Count, as the men ceased from making fast the ropes, which were brought over the bulwarks and passed round the belaying pins. “Do you think that will stop the leak?”
“Maybe yes, sir; maybe no. If it don’t do it we will put another plaister on, and another, and another. You have got plenty of spare sails and rope, and when we have used all yours I dare say we can find some more in the schooner. Now then, set your men going at that pump, and rig up another as quick as you can.”
One pump began to clank heavily at once, and a short time after another was at work, and the clear bright water began to sparkle out of the scuppers, while, moved as it were by the same spirit, the French crew burst into a shrill involuntary cheer.
“How can I ever thank you, captain?” cried the Count, while his son snatched at Rodd’s hand.
“Ah, I haven’t done yet, sir,” said the skipper coolly. “This is only a try.”
“Oh, it’s grand,” cried the French lad, clinging to Rodd’s arm. “You have saved our ship.”
“Don’t you holloa till you are out of the wood, young fellow,” said the skipper, as he heard the words. “Now, Mr Rodd, sir, what was it you wanted to know?”
“Why the water will not still rim in underneath the canvas.”
“Only because of this, my lad. Aren’t they pumping the water out now as fast as ever they can?”
“Yes,” cried Rodd; “but more will run in.”