“You see those things sticking out from the side of the boat into which I put my oars? They are called ‘rollocks,’ and when you are coming up stream through a lock you have to be careful indeed not to let them catch under any of the beams. It would be almost impossible to get them loose again, you see, because every moment more water would pour in, and press them tighter and tighter!”
“And what would it do to us if it did press them?” Viva inquired curiously, whereat the Captain smiled and shook his head.
“Something very disagreeable, I’m afraid—give us all a good wetting in the water! You needn’t be afraid of that, though, when you are with me, for I shall take good care of my little crew. You see how far I keep away with this oar.”
“Yes, I see. But why does one end of the boat stick out into the middle, and the other into the side?”
“It’s the current that sweeps it round, the force of the water that is coming in under the gates. That doesn’t matter so long as we are not caught.”
“But the end is caught, isn’t it? That little bit of iron that sticks up at the pointed end!” cried Pixie suddenly. She was densely ignorant of all that concerns boats, and invariably alluded to the bow and the stern as the “blunt” and “pointed” ends, to the Captain’s intense amusement.
This time, however, he did not smile. Pixie saw his face set suddenly as he turned his head to look in the direction of her outstretched finger, but his voice sounded reassuringly confident.
“Oh, I see! Yes. Let me pass you, dear, for a moment. Sit quite still!”
He stepped past her into the space occupied by the hampers, and stamped vigorously first with one foot, then with two, jumped with all his weight, then stepped quickly back to the centre of the boat and called to the man at the sluices—
“Hi, there! Stop! My boat is caught! Turn off that water! Quick, man, do you hear me!”