Five minutes later the yawl was lying immediately over the slipway, the slings were cast off, and slowly she settled upon the carriage prepared for her reception. The canoes were warped clear, and all that remained to be done was to man the winch and heave the cradle above high-water mark.
In spite of the broiling sun, the work of winding the winch was begun, for the delighted lads would not be persuaded to delay the operation till the cool of the day. Foot by foot the cradle came home, till the huge barnacle-covered hull began to appear above the water.
"What a state she's in," exclaimed Andy, as the lads rested from their labours, for they were thoroughly played out. "There's a week's scraping in front of us before we can do anything else."
"Hadn't we better see about baling her out?" asked Terence. "Directly she ceases to be water-borne the pressure of the water will burst her seams."
"No fear of that," replied Mr. McKay. "The water will find its way out of the hole that the natives made in her."
"I guess the motor is pretty rusty," continued Terence.
"It may not be," Andy replied. "You see, I kept it smothered in grease, and unless those brutes smashed it, it ought to be capable of being repaired. But I am awfully anxious to see, so what do you say to another turn at the winch?"
Once more the lads resumed their work of hauling up the cradle, till nearly the whole of the streaming, weed-covered hull—a forlorn waif from the sea—was visible.
"Another five yards, lads," exclaimed Ellerton cheerfully. "Now, put more beef into it."
As he spoke, there was a warning shout from Mr. McKay, but the warning came too late. Ere the lads could realise the extent of their misfortune the cradle collapsed and the hull of the yawl crashed over on her side.