“Come aboard!” rejoined Kenneth.
Wilson and the bowman standing at the gang-way—a gap made by the removal of a small portable section of the bulwarks—hauled the children and women up. The men followed and, tongue-tied, leant awkwardly against the rail, shuffling their sea-booted feet in obvious shyness.
“Get the children below, Wilson,” suggested Kenneth. “It’s cold for them on deck. We may as well start grub straight away!”
The first child to descend the ladder was a pretty flaxen-haired girl of about five, who gave a shrill cry of delight as she caught sight of the decorated main hold.
But the next moment she emitted a shriek of terror, and threw her arms round Wilson’s neck in a paroxysm of sheer fright.
The effect upon the rest was almost disastrous. The kiddies on deck stampeded; the elders not knowing what was amiss, either tried to pacify them or turned angrily upon the midshipman as the author of some piece of unwarranted treachery!
Above the tumult Leading Stoker Brown’s deep bass voice:
“I told you, sir! I knew I wasn’t cut out for the part. Now I’ve scared the kids properly!”
The midshipman, thanks to his training, knew how to act promptly in a tight corner.
“On deck, Father Christmas!” he ordered. Then, turning to his still agitated guests: “Here’s Father Christmas! He’s going to give you all a little present and to welcome you on board!”