They emerged almost simultaneously, gasping and spluttering.
"Not that way!" exclaimed Preston breathlessly, as his companion in misfortune began striking out for the ship's side. "Mind the prop."
The other realized the danger of being caught by the swiftly moving blades of the screw, but even then it was only the prompt action of the secuni at the wheel that saved him from being drawn into the vortex.
"Nothing to worry about," spluttered Preston, as the two bobbed like corks in the quartering wave. "We'll be picked up all right. My aunt! Look at them! Well, they might have chucked them on our heads."
He referred to the injudicious volley of lifebuoys. Although the ship was carrying way the passengers were still engaged in dumping the Company's property into the sea.
His companion laughed. Regaining his breath he was also regaining his boisterous spirits, although he had to admit that the struggle, followed by a thirty-odd foot fall had severely taxed his splendid brawn and muscle.
"You don't look in your element, Preston," he remarked, "even though you are Father Neptune."
"Was," corrected the absentee Acting Chief Officer, proceeding to relieve himself of the encumbrance of his scanty garb of trailing seaweed and oyster-shells. "Come on; we may as well strike out for the nearest of that line of lifebuoys. Breast stroke. There's no great hurry, and it's less tiring."
Although the passenger had gone overboard wearing boxing-gloves, that had remained on his hands despite his wrestling bout, one had disappeared during his submergence. Preston remarked on it.
"Yes," rejoined the other. "Might just as well hang on to this one, although one's not much use. Cost me a couple of Bradbury's just before we left England. I say, do you mind telling me this: I declare I've crossed the Line without being initiated. Is that so?"