"Pancho, Panchito!" he shouted. "Come out and help, little parrot!"
Marston heard the engineer clatter across the iron platforms and cross the deck. So far as Marston could understand, his remarks were grossly rude, but the other interrupted:
"What is a small bottle of caña to a fireman? It is the ladder that is drunk. If you will not hold it, little parrot, I must sleep in the cold."
To judge by the noise they made, Pancho seized the ladder while the other scrambled up. He jumped on deck, laughing boisterously, a door shut, and when the men's feet rattled on the platform bars in the engine-room Marston crawled across the deck. He found the top of the ladder, but had only gone down a few steps when it slipped across the side and threw him off. Although he did not fall far, the ladder struck the ground with a crash and he lay down in the gloom under the tug's bilge.
After waiting for a few moments he saw the others were not coming back on deck, and he got up and stole along the slip. Crossing the mole with a few quick steps, he climbed the parapet and dropped to the stones on the other side. When he had gone a hundred yards along the beach he whistled softly, and although the gravel rolled about in the languid surf heard Wyndham's answer. Then the gig's white hull appeared indistinctly among the streaks of foam, and he plunged into the backwash as a wave recoiled. Seizing the gig's bow, he pushed her off and got on board while Wyndham sculled her round. For two or three minutes they let her drift off-shore; and then stepped the mast and hoisted sail.
"Well?" said Wyndham. "Did you find the tug?"
Marston related his adventures and added: "I expect they'll float her off next tide, but some of the small jobs I noted would hardly be finished. Then she'll have to coal, fill her tanks, and get up steam. In fact, I don't imagine she could start until sometime after dark to-morrow. Five or six lighters were lying near the slip."
"She'll no doubt bring them across," said Wyndham thoughtfully. "I expect the skipper will go half-speed across the bay. Well, suppose she arrives in the morning? The sea-breeze will freshen as the sun gets high, and towing the loaded boats would be dangerous in broken water; perhaps we can take it for granted the troops won't leave until it's dark. At night they'd get smooth water, because the wind's off the land. This means we have about forty-eight hours' warning. But slack the jib sheet a little. Our first job's to get on board by daybreak."
As they opened up the bay the sea got rougher, but the wind was on the gig's quarter and they let her go. She rolled on the angry combers and the boom that stretched the lugsail's foot tossed up. If she fell off much and the sail lurched across, the shock would capsize her or carry away the mast. Wyndham, however, held her straight and she drove on, with curling foam piled about her side. It was a wild run and they were glad when they got near the land again and found shelter. The sea was smooth now, and the breeze moderate, although it blew in gusts that heeled the boat and set the water splashing against her planks. Once or twice Wyndham made Marston strike a match and look at his watch.
"We may get in, but we have not much time to spare," he said at length.