Vernon looked around for his chum. He saw him sharing an oar with one of the crew.
"Come on, my lads!" shouted Ross encouragingly. "We'll hike her up. Half a dozen of you who have life-belts come round this side, and when I say 'All together!' lift for all you're worth."
The men obeyed as quickly as they could in the circumstances. Finding that they could easily keep afloat, the non-swimmers had regained their confidence. Piloted by those who could swim, the men ranged themselves along one gunwale of the waterlogged whaler.
"All ready?" asked Ross, whose knowledge of how to empty a waterlogged Canadian canoe prompted him to try a large, heavy boat. "Together!"
Up rose the boat's gunwale as high as the men's arms could reach, but with a dull swish the whaler resumed its former position. In lifting one side the other had dropped deeply beneath the surface, and the attempt to shake out the water had ended in failure.
"Now then," ordered Vernon, taking his turn to direct operations. "All swimmers get overboard for a few minutes. Those with life-belts get on board, and take off your belts."
In five minutes a dozen cork life-belts were available. Manoeuvring his boat alongside the waterlogged whaler, Vernon gave directions for the belts to be lashed underneath the thwarts, so that they were completely submerged. Then taking the whaler's painter he hove taut until, added to the lifting powers of the cork and the upward strain on the ropes, the gunwale rose a good three inches above the water.
This done, one of the Capella's men, armed with a baler, began throwing out the water from the whaler. In another five minutes the boat showed sufficient buoyancy to allow two more hands to clamber on board. They, too, baled vigorously, with the result that once more the whaler was free from water.
Between the two boats, all the survivors of the Orontabella were easily accommodated; but when at length the midshipmen looked for the Capella, the patrol-boat was nowhere to be seen.