The fact that the boat was not under control stirred Peter to action. Having made sure that none of the rest of the West Barbican's boats was in sight, he aroused the inert lascars.
"Hai! hai!" he shouted. "Aft, you hands, and set sail."
The men showed no great haste to execute the command.
"Where go? India?" asked one.
"Lay aft, both of you," exclaimed Peter sternly, although in his weak state he found himself asking how he could enforce obedience. He knew enough of the native temperament to realize that if he gave a command and failed to see it carried out, his authority over the lascars was as good as gone for ever.
"Me tired," objected the other. "No pani, no padi."
Without another word Mostyn produced and ostentatiously displayed his automatic. There were great odds against its efficacy, after being submerged for several hours. The cartridges were supposed to be watertight, and were well greased. He had little fear on that score. The difficulty lay in the fact that the delicate mechanism of the pistol might have been deranged through the action of the salt water.
He felt confident that he could rely upon Mahmed. The boy was a devoted servant, and true to his salt. And Peter had no doubt about Miss Baird's ability to aid him if the lascars proved openly mutinous. For the present Preston was out of the running, while Mrs. Shallop was literally and figuratively a "passenger".
Greatly to Mostyn's relief the sight of the automatic acted like an electric shock upon the two lascars. With great agility and speed they began casting off the sail-cover and setting up the heavy mast.
While they were hoisting the lug-sail Mahmed shipped the rudder, and soon the boat was slipping along before the breeze.