Less than a couple of miles and dead to lee’ard were the dreaded Mutches, the saw-like reefs of which were waiting for their prey!
IV
Kenneth fully realized the dire peril that beset him and those under his orders. He was directly responsible for the safety of his men. In spite of his youth his training at Dartmouth, followed by a few months in the light cruiser, had taught him self-reliance.
The impassive-featured coxswain was waiting for the first sign of indecision on the midshipman’s features. The petty officer, who was old enough to be Raxworthy’s father, knew perfectly well that the situation would either prove the midshipman to be a leader of men or the reverse. Had the latter shown any sign of cracking under the ordeal then the coxswain would issue what orders he thought fit to safeguard the lives of his comrades. Should this step become necessary and the crew survived the ordeal, Raxworthy’s name would be Mud for the rest of his Service career.
But the coxswain was agreeably disappointed.
“Let go the anchor!” ordered the midshipman. “See that the forelock is properly secured,” he added, as a precautionary measure.
The bowman crept along the slippery waterways to the plunging fore-deck. Working deftly in the darkness, he assured himself that the anchor-stock was efficiently secured, and then toppled the “killick”—weighing more than a hundredweight—over the bows.
With a rush and a roar the chain ran out until the picket-boat snubbed violently and, held by the anchor, swung head to wind and tide.
“Holding, sir!” reported the bowman.
Reassured on that point, Kenneth ordered the man aft. He wasn’t going to run the risk of losing the seaman overboard as the picket-boat plunged her nose deeply into the hissing, surging seas.