Part 1 (2/2)
”I called attention to the fact that it was quiet down here with deliberate intent, my festive Box-spanner,” retorted the surgeon. ”At last, after weeks of expostulation, your minions have succeeded in quelling that demon of unrest, the steam steering-gear. For the first time for a fortnight I have slept serenely, and, thanks to that blessed balm, I feel like a giant refreshed. Now, how about it?”
He made a dive into the adjoining cabin, where the engineer-lieutenant was in the act of struggling with a refractory collar. The next instant the two men lurched into the ward-room engaged in what looked to be a mortal struggle.
Cannoning off the stove, sweeping a sheaf of books from the wall, glissading from the cus.h.i.+oned lockers, the high-spirited officers tackled each other with mock-serious desperation until, with a violent heave, the athletic doctor deposited his engineering confrere fairly upon the table. With a series of crashes, cups, saucers, tureens, teapot, coffee-pot, eggs and bacon sidled in an indescribable state of chaos upon the floor.
”Time!” exclaimed Sefton authoritatively. ”Look here, you fellows. I haven't had my breakfast, and I suppose you haven't had yours? Not that it matters to me. And, Pills, has your supply of bromide run out?”
The combatants separated and began taking stock of the damage.
”You logged a gale of wind last night, I hope, Sefton?” asked the engineer-lieutenant in tones of mock anxiety. ”Must account for this smash-up, you know---- Any luck? Have they got it?”
The acting-sub, now that conversation had reverted to the inevitable ”it”, was bound to admit that the preceding night's labours had been fruitless. The possibilities of the recovery of the much-desired ”it”
monopolized the attention of the occupants of the ward-room until the steward, outwardly stolidly indifferent to the unsympathetic treatment of his labours, provided another repast.
They were boyish and high-spirited officers on H.M.T.B.D. _Calder_.
Their pranks were but an antidote to the ceaseless strain of days and nights of watch and ward.
”To get back to things mundane,” persisted the engineer-lieutenant as the trio sat down to their belated meal, ”will they find it?”
”It is my firm belief that they will,” replied Sefton decisively. ”Even if we have to mark time about here for another month.”
”Heaven forbid!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the surgeon piously, ”I pine for fresh water. Your vile condenser-brewed fluid is simply appalling, my festive Box-spanner. And I yearn for newspapers less than a week old.”
The engineer-lieutenant glared defiance at his medical confrere. He knew perfectly well that the water on board was brackish and insipid, but it was condensed under his personal supervision. Any disparaging remarks upon his _metier_--even if uttered in jest--touched him to the quick.
A resumption of the ”sc.r.a.p” seemed imminent, when a bluejacket, tapping at the ward-room door, announced: ”Captain's compliments, sir; they've just hooked it.”
CHAPTER II--The Recovered Cable
Instantly there was a wild scramble on the part of the three officers to gain the deck, all other topics of interest vanis.h.i.+ng before the all-important information.
A cable's length on the port beam the _Ca.r.s.e o' Gowrie_ was backing gently astern in order to close with her consort. The _Dimpled La.s.sie_ was pitching sluggishly. Way had been taken off her, while over her squat counter the wire hawser attached to the Lucas grapnel was ”straight up and down” under the steady strain of some heavy and still submerged object.
From the destroyer's bridge a signalman was semaphoring rapidly by means of hand-flags. The _Dimpled La.s.sie_ replied. The man had just finished delivering the message to Lieutenant-Commander Crosthwaite when Sefton and the other officers gained the bridge.
”There's no doubt about it now,” declared Crosthwaite breezily.
”They've just reported that the thing is two fathoms off the bottom.
The _Ca.r.s.e o' Gowrie_ is going to help take the strain.”
”Hope it won't carry away, sir,” remarked Sefton.
”Never fear! Where the patent grapnel grips, it holds. What water have we?”
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