The sea was like glass. The usual Pacific roll was entirely absent. A quarter of a mile on the starboard quarter the Awarua was resolutely plugging along at 10 knots.
Bobbing in the wake of the cruiser was a darkbrown object. It was Panjie. The animal had escaped the suction of the propellers, but the fall from a vessel pelting along at 20 knots had evidently stunned it. At all events it made no effort to swim.
No order was given for the Gosport to reverse engines or even to slow down. She merely "carried on" describing a vast circle round the slow-moving Transport 99.
"By Jove, sir!" exclaimed the Commander, addressing the Captain. "The Awarua's starboarding helm."
"She is," admitted the Skipper grimly. "We've played into her hands this time, I fancy."
The "owner's" surmise was correct. Lining the side of the transport were hundreds of troops. Some of them, and several of the Awarua's crew, had provided themselves with running bowlines, and as the unfortunate Panjie drifted close to the ship he was saluted with a shower of lassos.
"They've hooked him, sir!" reported the Commander as the kangaroo's limp body, firmly encircled with three or four bowlines, was unceremoniously hauled on board the transport.
"By the powers they have," agreed the Skipper bitterly, and straightway he left the bridge and went below.
Five minutes later the Awarua's semaphore began working rapidly. On the Gosport's bridge a barefooted signalman wrote down the message on a pad. He was unable to conceal a broad grin as he handed the signal to the Commander.
No need for the latter to read the writing. He, in common with nearly all the officers and crew, had read the semaphore verbatim.