There was no need for Poundall to send a messenger to inform the captain that they were afloat once more. Wilverley, awakened by the noise, was on the bridge wearing pyjamas plus his badge of authority, namely, his gilt oak-leaved cap.
“Current’s running hard, sir,” reported the officer-of-the-watch.
“Yes, send the quartermaster to the wheel and warn the look-outs to keep a sharp look-out for drifting sampans and wreckage.”
This precaution was necessary. Throughout the night the steam steering gear was frequently clanking as the man at the wheel gave the anchored gunboat a sheer to avoid various large objects that came down upon the now swirling stream.
A wireless message was sent off announcing that the gunboat was again afloat, and then conditions became quieter until dawn.
By this time the river had risen to such an extent that Sandgrub could heave short her cable without the risk of running aground again.
“Good old Excelsior!” exclaimed Viner. “Here we are in the same benighted spot that we were twelve hours ago.”
“Up and down, sir!” announced the petty officer, superintending the weighing operations.
The lieutenant gave order for half-speed ahead, and gradually gathering way, the gunboat resumed her cautious progress.