There was none. In that blinding snowstorm visibility was limited to about fifty yards.
“What makes you think we’re dragging?” he asked.
“Well, sir, while you were below I took the liberty of going for’ard and feeling the cable. Unless I’m much mistaken the fluke of the anchor’s rasping over the bottom. She mayn’t be dragging fast, but there it is—she ain’t where she was when we dropped the killick.”
This was disconcerting news. Even supposing the pinnace was drifting to lee’ard slowly, the danger of striking the reefs was none the less—it was merely a question of time, unless, in the meanwhile, the anchor obtained a firm hold.
That was supposing the leading stoker would be unable to restart the motor.
Raxworthy waited patiently for some minutes. The inaction gave him food for thought. He pictured the two officers pacing the pier head in the bitter snowstorm and uttering maledictions upon the picket-boat for not being there on time. Next morning the commander would want to know all about it, with the inevitable result that the already disgraced midshipman would be again hauled over the coals for neglecting to keep the boat in efficient working order.
“A merry Christmas for me—I don’t think!” muttered Kenneth for the umpteenth time.
At last the motor awoke into activity.
Kenneth sprang to the wheel. The bowman got to his feet and awaited the order to go for’ard and heave short the cable.
The midshipman was on the point of ordering a “touch ahead” when the engine spluttered and relapsed into silence.