Gripping the handrail of the raised cover over the motor-room, Raxworthy waited. With a jerk that shook the boat from stem to stern the painter took up the sudden strain. A shower of icy spray flew inboard, a generous quantity finding its way inside the storm flap of the midshipman’s oilskins, and in spite of his thick muffler the icy liquid trickled down his chest, making him gasp for breath.
A moment later and Raxworthy gained his post at the wheel. The bowman crept for’ard ready to let go, while the coxswain stood behind his young officer to give advice and assistance should either be required.
But once at his post the midshipman’s confidence returned. The discomfort—even the sense of injustice under which he had rankled—was forgotten. He was in command of the boat, captain of his immediate destiny and likewise responsible for the lives of his men and for the safety of his command.
Spinning the wheel first to port and then to starboard in order to reassure himself that on this occasion it was functioning properly, Raxworthy gave the order to cast off and to the leading stoker—who was in charge of the motor—for a “touch ahead”.
Rolling and plunging, the motor-picket-boat gathered way and drew clear of her parent ship. In a few seconds the Kirkham was swallowed up in the darkness of the snow-laden night.
Except for the motor-picket-boat navigation lamps, and the feeble glimmer of the binnacle lamp, not a light was visible. Even the powerful rays of the lighthouse on the extremity of the Mutches were blotted out, although in normal conditions the light was visible for twenty-five miles.
Kenneth Raxworthy entertained no doubts concerning his ability to find the entrance of the inner harbour. Allowing for the set of the tide and the strength and direction of the wind, he knew the correct compass course. All that was necessary was to hold on to that course until the pier-head lights became visible through the mirk. He had made that trip so many times that he knew the course by heart—“west a half south”.
But in less than five minutes from the time of getting clear of the ship Raxworthy’s confidence received a shattering shock.
Almost without warning—for the noise of wind and sea drowned the expostulating splutter of the carburettor—the motor stopped.
The picket-boat, quickly losing way, hung head to wind for a brief space, then, pounded by a heavy wave, swung broadside on and helpless in the trough of the sea.