“I can’t do it while there’s a strain on the chain,” Jule answered.
“Then wait a minute,” directed the other, “and she’ll probably slacken up.”
Caught in a contrary swirl of the eddy in which she lay, the Rambler gave a lurch ahead, in a moment, and Jule took the opportunity of slipping the stopper from the chain.
When the boat settled back again the chain ran out of the hawse-pipe with a clatter which attracted the attention of those on board the Hawk, and many oaths and epithets were passed back and forth over the water.
Not for long, however, for the Rambler swinging out into the current, gradually swept down. Now she ran stern against the current, now prow against the current; now sideways; now swirling round and round in an ugly whirlpool.
It was at this moment that Clay, approaching the window in the captain’s stateroom, saw what had taken place. He turned to the latter a face red with anger, his eyes flashing, his fists clenched.
“What is the meaning of that?” he asked pointing out of the window.
The captain bounded to the window and peered out. At that moment an imperative knock sounded on the stateroom door.
“What is it?” demanded the captain, opening the door and starting out. “Why is that boat running away?”
“Mike and Gid have stolen her!” shouted the mate. “They threatened me with guns when I tried to board her. Now they threaten all on board the Hawk if we attempt to recapture the Rambler.”