The picket-boat heeled until her starboard waterways were well awash; then recovering, hung irresolutely against the other craft’s stern.
As she held thus, the coxswain, with great presence of mind, passed a bight of one of the painters round the anchored vessel’s cable; and presently the picket-boat, grating astern over the heavy chain, brought up alongside the craft with which she had collided.
Over the latter’s low bulwark appeared the head and shoulders of one of the crew.
“Take our line!” reiterated Wilson.
The man remained staring open-mouthed at the boat alongside. He stood there for perhaps a quarter of a minute, then without attempting to make fast the second painter which Wilson had heaved on board, he disappeared from sight.
“Perishing blighter!” ejaculated the coxswain contemptuously as he coiled in the disregarded painter. “She’s holding, sir. I’ll just nip aboard and secure her properly. I reckon we’re nicely out of this mess.”
“Lay out a couple of fenders first,” ordered the midshipman; for now that all immediate danger was over he was not going to risk a further reprimand from the commander for damaging the picket-boat’s side. Although there was now little more than a heavy ground swell the two craft were rolling considerably to the detriment of the naval boat’s paintwork.
“Ay, ay, sir!”
The hands fended the picket-boat off until the coir fenders were placed in position, with the result that instead of a disconcerting succession of grinding thuds as woodwork banged against woodwork, the fender took practically all the chafe.
“What’s up with the fellow we saw on board?” inquired Kenneth.