Mostyn allowed a good three minutes to elapse before signing to Mahmed and the lascars to take down the canvas. It was an absolutely necessary step, in order to allow unimpeded access to the working canvas, should it be required either to reef the sail or stow it altogether.

Having seen the task carried out, Peter proceeded to rig up a sea-anchor.

"It may come in jolly useful," he remarked to Miss Baird. "If we don't want it I won't complain about useless work."

With the a.s.sistance of the three Indians Mostyn bent a rope span to the yard and boom of the mizzen sail. Through the centre of each span he secured a stout gra.s.s warp, weighting the yard with the grapnel, so that, if it became necessary to ride to the improvised sea-anchor, the grapnel would keep the sail taut and in a vertical plane.

By the time these preparations were completed the bank of ragged-edged clouds had covered most of the sky to wind'ard. The sun was beginning to become obscured, while there was an appreciable drop in the temperature of the air. The wind had fallen away utterly, leaving the sail hanging idly from the yard. The water no longer rippled under the boat's forefoot. All was silent save for the creaking of the mast and spars as the boat rolled sluggishly in the long, gentle swell.

Keenly on the alert, Peter had taken over the helm, and was keeping a sharp look-out to wind'ard.

"Down sail!" he ordered.

The canvas was lowered and stowed. As a precautionary measure Mostyn had the sea-anchor hove overboard, trusting that at the first squall the high, freeboarded boat would drift rapidly until brought head to wind by the drag of the improvised floating breakwater.

"It's coming," said Olive in a low voice, as a long-drawn shriek could be faintly heard--the harbinger of a vicious squall.

By now it was almost dusk, so dense were the clouds overhead. The tropical sun had no power to penetrate the sombre ma.s.ses of vapour.

Less than half a mile to wind'ard the hitherto tranquil water was white with wind-lashed foam; while, in strange contrast, the sea-anchor was rubbing gently alongside the boat in the perfectly smooth sea.

Louder and louder grew the volume of sound, until with a vicious rush the squall swept down upon the boat. For a few seconds, while she lay broadside on, the boat heeled to such an extent, under the wind-pressure upon her high sides, that the water was actually pouring in over the lee gunwale. Then, spinning round as the gra.s.s rope attached to the sea-anchor tautened, the boat rode head to wind and sea.

In a brief s.p.a.ce of time the terrific gusts had raised quite a mountainous sea, with deep troughs and short, sharp crests which, torn by the blasts into clouds of spindrift, flew completely over the boat.

So far she had ridden it out splendidly, the sea-anchor breaking the more dangerous waves in a manner that was quite astonishing. Yet the while the gra.s.s rope was snubbing wickedly in spite of its natural springiness. Through the clouds of spray Peter could see that the lascars for'ard were betraying considerable uneasiness lest the rope should part.

Mostyn too realized the danger. He regretted that he had not doubled the rope, but now nothing could be done beyond putting a temporary "parcelling" round it where it pa.s.sed through the bow fairlead.

More than once the Wireless Officer gave a hurried glance at Miss Baird. Outwardly the girl seemed perfectly self-possessed, and, with her natural thoughtfulness, she was sitting on the stern-gratings and doing her best to keep the still delirious Preston from sliding from side to side with the erratic and disconcerting motion of the boat.

The squall lasted for perhaps five minutes. Then, after a lull, came another series of vicious blasts from a different point, that was almost at right angles to the direction of the initial squall. This had the effect of raising a nasty cross-sea, accompanied by a torrential downpour of rain.

Suddenly, at less than a couple of cable-lengths to windward, appeared the misty outlines of a tramp steamer. She was labouring badly, rolling almost rail under and throwing up showers of spray high above her bridge.

Standing up and keeping his feet with difficulty Mostyn frantically waved to the vessel. Mahmed followed his example and also hailed in his high-pitched key. Shouting was useless. No volume of sound short of that of a fog-horn could possibly have carried that distance in the face of the howling elements.

The next instant the temporary clearing of the downpour gave place to a blinding deluge. The steamer vanished as utterly as if she had suddenly plunged to the bed of the ocean.

"Has she seen us?" inquired Olive, raising her voice.

"'Fraid not," replied Peter, still staring in the direction where he had last seen the tramp. "Couldn't do much if she did in this dust-up.

I'll risk a rocket, any old way."

Some time elapsed before a rocket could be taken from its airtight case, and the touch-paper ignited. Then with a hiss the detonating signal soared obliquely upwards, its intended course deflected by the terrific wind.

It burst at less than a hundred feet in the air, but the report was so faint and the flash so weak that Mostyn could only reiterate his doubts as to whether the tramp could see or hear anything.

"It's lucky she didn't run us down," he added. "I know those blighters. They think they've got the whole ocean to themselves and carry on at full speed. In fog it's often the same, the idea being to get into better weather as soon as possible."

For another ten minutes it blew hard, but, thanks to the improvised sea-anchor, the boat was making very little leeway and riding head to wind. Occasionally the crested tops of the cross-seas flopped in over the gunwale, and the two lascars were kept baling steadily. Olive and Mahmed were tending the still delirious Preston, the former holding him to prevent further injuries to his badly damaged head, while the boy kept a strip of painted canvas over the Acting Chief's body to shelter him from the rain and spray. Mrs. Shallop was the only idler.

Refusing Peter's offer of his oilskin, she sat huddled up on the bottom-boards, with the water swirling over her feet and her clothing saturated with the torrential rain. Too dispirited to use her voice in complaint, she sat and shivered in morose silence, posing as a martyr and yet getting no sympathy from anyone.

At length the wind ceased, although the rain continued in violence.

This had the effect of calming the water considerably, and Peter took the opportunity of ordering the lascars to spread out the square of painted canvas, and catch as much rain as possible to augment the precious store of fresh water.

Within an hour the sky cleared and the wind freshened into a one-reef breeze. The sea-anchor was taken in and sail again set; but there was the disquieting knowledge that the wind was dead in their teeth.

Either the boat must be kept "full and bye", gaining little or nothing on each tack, or Mostyn must "up helm" and retrace his course on the chance of making the now far-distant Mozambique sh.o.r.e, which meant that the previous sixteen-hour run was utterly wasted.

"If only we had a motor!" he exclaimed.

CHAPTER XXVI

Mostyn's Watch

Just before sunset the wind dropped to a flat calm. Peter took advantage of the practically motionless conditions to employ the fishing-lines that had been discovered in the after locker. The hooks were sharpened by means of the sandpaper fixed to the solitary box of matches in the boat. Small pieces of biscuit, soaked in water and rolled between the finger and thumb, served as bait. The lines were old and far from sound, but might be relied upon to bear a steady strain of about seven pounds.

"Do we fish on the bottom, Mr. Mostyn?" asked Olive facetiously.

"Yes, rather," replied Peter, entering into the jovial spirit. "That is, if your line is long enough. We're only about a mile from the nearest land, and that's immediately beneath us."

Olive lowered her line steadily. Before she had paid out half of it there was a perceptible jerk and the line slackened.

"I've struck soundings," she reported.

At first Mostyn thought that the girl was still joking, but an exclamation from one of the lascars, who was lowering one of the lines, convinced him that the lead weights had touched something of a solid nature.

Taking Miss Baird's line, Peter held it between his extended first and middle fingers. He could distinctly feel the lead trailing over a hard bottom, as the boat was carried along by a slight current.

"Strange," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "We're in less than five fathoms. I had no idea that there was a shoal hereabouts."

Steadying himself by the mast, Mostyn stood upon the gunwale and scanned the horizon. North, south, east, and west the aspect was much the same--an unbroken expanse of water, differing in colour according to the bearing. To the east it was sombre, to the west the sea was crimson, as it reflected the gorgeous tints of the setting sun.

"No land in sight," he reported.

The shoal proved to be a good fishing-ground, for, before the short tropical dusk had given place to night, a dozen fair-sized fish, somewhat resembling the herring of northern waters, had been hauled into the boat.

"What is the use of them after all?" inquired Olive. "We can't cook them, and raw fish are uneatable."

"Unpalatable, Miss Baird," corrected Peter. "It is just likely that we shall have to eat them. To-morrow we'll try curing them in the sun."

"Couldn't we fry them over the lamp?" asked the girl, who obviously had not taken kindly to the suggestion that the fish should be sun-cured.

She was extremely practical on most points, but she drew the line at dried but otherwise raw herrings.

"You might try cooking for yourself, Miss Baird," said Peter dubiously.

"You see, we have to economize in oil almost as much as with water; but I think we can stretch a point in your favour."