There were no capstan bars on board the Penguin; a steam winch did the business. He gave the signal for steam to be turned on, and then went up on the bridge.
The rattle and rasp of the winch pawls and the links of the anchor chain as it was hauled through the hawse pipe roused echoes from the shore. The gulls fishing on the little harbour made by the protecting reef rose, clamouring and beating their wings, and, as though the sound of the anchor chain had managed to free Sprengel, he appeared, having managed to work his way out of a window.
He came running down to the beach, shaking his fist and shouting till the Captain, more for the fun of the thing than any other reason, picked up a rifle and aimed it at him.
Then he turned and vanished into the woods.
The slack of the anchor chain was now in, and now the anchor itself left the water and was hoisted, dripping, to the catheads. The Captain rang on the engines, and the Penguin began to back out. She could have turned, but it was easier to back her out, especially as the sea was so smooth.
Outside the reef, as she slued round, she let go her siren.
Three times its echoes returned from the moist-throated woods and cliffs; then, full speed ahead, she went toward the east.