The clank of the windlass had hardly started when a boat appeared upon the moonlit waters. For a moment Raxworthy thought that the crew of the Marie Lescaut were returning to take forcible possession of their vessel; but the now familiar voice of the fisherman boomed over the intervening space.
“Shall I pilot you out, sir?” he inquired. “One good turn deserves another, all the world over, and you’ve done our bairns proud!”
The midshipman gratefully accepted the offer. Even though it did not relieve him of the responsibility he realized that the risk of the schooner running aground was greatly reduced, since the man knew the channel thoroughly. Unless he purposely set the Marie Lescaut ashore, in order to prevent her capture.
Kenneth confided his doubts to the coxswain.
“That’ll be all right, sir,” rejoined Wilson. “You take him aboard you. I’ll remain in the schooner and we’ll tow his boat astern until we’re clear of here. He won’t dare try any tricks while he’s in the picket-boat. Mind you, sir, I don’t think he’s that. He’s proper jonnick—that’s my opinion.”
The fisherman made no objection when this plan was proposed to him. Directly the anchor was a-peak the Marie Lescaut was abandoned by all, with the exception of the coxswain, whose duty it was to steer the schooner in the picket-boat’s wake.
Slowly the latter gathered way, her motor running steadily and now showing no indications of “konking out”, while the schooner at the end of thirty fathoms of stout hawser followed sedately in the picket-boat’s wake.
At last, with a sigh of relief, the midshipman saw that his charges were well outside the Mutches and beyond the ten-fathom line. Here the tow was temporarily cast off in order to put the voluntary pilot back into his own boat.
Once more the towing hawser was secured and the long, circuitous journey to Mautby Harbour was resumed.
At seven-thirty the picket-boat and her tow passed under the Kirkham’s stern to be greeted with the customary hail of: “Boat ahoy!”