For a moment Midshipman Raxworthy hesitated—not that he was afraid to board the sombre, mysterious craft, but because it meant leaving the picket-boat of which he was in command and consequently responsible for its safety.
Apparently Wilson noticed his superior officer’s hesitation.
“She’ll be all right, sir,” he declared. “Both painters properly secured and the sternfast as well. Since we’ve to make a night of it maybe you’ll order the hands on board too. It’s a jolly sight more comfortable than being frozen stiff in our hooker!”
Kenneth looked at the coxswain in astonishment. What did he mean by declaring that the apparently abandoned schooner was better than the picket-boat?
“Right-o!” he rejoined, “I’ll come aboard.”
“Hang on a minute, sir!” cautioned Wilson. “The deck’s as slippery as a skating-rink. Wait till I drop a Jacob’s ladder over the side.”
A moment later and a wire rope ladder with wooden rungs was lowered from the schooner’s bulwarks.
Cautiously the midshipman made his way up and gained the deck.
“Here we are, sir!” was the coxswain’s greeting. “A nice little home from home!”
At first glance there was nothing to bear out Wilson’s statement.