As he did so there was a sudden jar accompanied by a disconcerting crunching sound.
Viner staggered backwards, knocked Raxworthy off his feet and both fell upon the deck, the lieutenant uppermost. Just at that moment the Chinese messman was arriving with a tray and two glasses of iced lemonades, each with a dash of gin and bitters.
He, too, staggered and unable to recover himself tripped over the two writhing officers.
Raxworthy, although underneath, contrived to wriggle clear and was the first to regain his feet. Then Viner stood up, seemingly regardless of a gash in the back of his hand which was bleeding freely.
“We’ve hit the putty this time, by Jove!” he ejaculated. “Chains, there! What have you got?”
“Hardly enough to float a duck, sir!” replied one of the men. “The lead’s showing.”
Somewhat to Raxworthy’s surprise no orders were given to stop engines. The twin screws continued to revolve apparently driving the gunboat farther on the shoal. But for the fact that they were protected by their respective tunnels the propeller blades would have been torn from their bosses, for Sandgrub had grounded not upon mud, but on hard gravel.
Beyond the first effects of the stranding no one on board seemed to mind. The lieutenant-commander came on the bridge and grinned to his subordinate.
“So you’ve smelt it, Viner?” he observed. “What are we doing?”
“Both engines half speed ahead, sir.”