It was that of the electric bell in the wheel-house, giving warning that those below in the emporium wished to make some communication.
Mr Stokes went to the voice-tube that led down thither from the bridge.
“What’s the matter?” he roared into the mouthpiece so loud that I heard every word he uttered, although a-top of the mast. “Anything wrong?”
I couldn’t of course catch the reply that came up the pipe; and it certainly was not a satisfactory one, for Mr Stokes turned round at once to the skipper, who immediately stopped his quarter-deck walk to hear what the chief had to say.
“They’ve corrected the propeller, sir,” he exclaimed with a chuckle that made his fat form shake all over; “and Stoddart says he’s only waiting for your signal to close the stop valves and let the steam into the cylinder.”
“By George, he shan’t wait a minute longer!” cried Captain Applegarth, moving the engine-room telegraph. “Go ahead, my hearties, as soon as you please! Hullo, there, forrad, I want a hand here at the wheel. I suppose the steam steering gear is all right again now?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” replied Mr Stokes to this. “Grummet fixed that up on Sunday afternoon, he told me. I am sure it was done. I remember he was doing it when that man-of-war came alongside and spoke you.”
“Strange I didn’t see him at the job; he must have been pretty smart over it!” replied the skipper. “But I’m very glad it is done, though.”
In answer to the skipper’s signal a sudden blast of steam rushed up the funnel abaft the wheel-house, and I could feel the ship tremble as the shaft began to revolve and the propeller blades splashed the water astern with the familiar “thump-thump, thump-thump.”
All hands joined in a hearty cheer, to which Masters and I in the top lent what aid our lungs could give.