Kenneth went below and made up for the delay by tucking in to an appetizing repast. Certainly the Frenchmen knew how to cook, and even if the unusual breakfast had suffered somewhat in the process of “hotting-up”, it was none the less welcome.
What with the effect of a plentiful meal and the warmth of the cabin, the midshipman dropped off into a comfortable sleep.
He awoke to find Wilson touching his shoulder.
“Daybreak, sir, and a Merry Christmas! Brown’s found the jet and strained off the juice. There wasn’t half a lot of water in that paraffin!”
“That’s good,” rejoined Kenneth. “But it’s not much use getting the motor to run if our steering-gear’s still jammed. What’s it like outside?”
“I’ll overhaul the steering-gear when it’s a bit lighter, sir,” replied Wilson. “It’s stopped snowing, sir, but there’s a thick fog. You can hardly see the schooner’s bowsprit-end from the eyes of her. I reckon we’d best hang on where we are until it lifts. We aren’t likely to die of starvation,” he added with a laugh.
The morning wore on. The fog held persistently, and although the wind had fallen considerably there was a confused sea running outside. This was evident by the terrific roar of the breakers which almost outvoiced the fog-signal from the lighthouse at the seaward end of the Mutches.
Debating as to whether it would be possible to get to the lighthouse and ask the keepers to communicate with the Kirkham by wireless, Kenneth came to the conclusion that such a step was impracticable unless the request was conveyed by a shore boat. So far no boat from the island had appeared.
The hands then set to work to brush the snow from the deck of the Marie Lescaut and also from the picket-boat. While they were thus engaged the fog lifted locally and for the first time the men noticed that bunches of holly had been fastened to the schooner’s mastheads.
“The Frenchies meant to have a proper Christmas beano,” remarked the bowman. “It doesn’t seem jonnick that we’ve done them out of a bust-out! I remember once in the old Endymion ——”