all but convinced that
every drum would burst loose before that horrible mud let go. And so
they watched, every eye, and still the pumps clanged and clattered;
still their feet were sluiced with out-gushing liquid that was now
merely slime. And then the first pump sucked--sucked hoarsely and
throatily--and another, and another--yet the mud clung tenaciously to
the vessel's keel and bilges.

"She rises! Th' bloomin' ol' lady rises!" roared Blunt, and Barry stared
at him in disgust. No other ears had heard, no other eyes had seen, the
signs that the old seaman had sensed above the sucking of the pumps.

"She rises, I tell ye!"

Then from the swirling water alongside, rising swiftly as the tide made,
came a long, hollow sound like a Gargantuan boot being tugged out of a
morass. The _Barang_ moved, shivered, and heeled slightly; then came one
tremendous, prolonged sucking sound, and she rolled lazily over until
the drums floated high on the surface and rattled together like drums of
victory.

"Guy out the booms to keep her down!" shouted Barry; "Rolfe! shift
everything heavy over to that side, too. You, Blunt, get a boat away and
carry out a kedge astern. When you're through, set a watch on deck and
let the hands turn in. We can fix the leaks in a couple of hours in
daylight at low water again. Thanks, Blunt! You're one real sailor,
anyway."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gordon took the canoe and went ashore to sleep after the work was
finished; the _Barang_ was the epitome of malodorous discomfort after
her submersion, and even the crew preferred to coil up on deck rather
than risk the dampness and possible intruding river life of the
forecastle. Little looked at the departing canoe with humorous envy in
his face, for he had not yet reached the point in sea-hardness where he
preferred an uncomfortable bunk on board the ship to a comfortable couch
ashore.

"Want to go with him?" queried Barry, shuddering himself at the prospect
of a steamy wet night to be followed by a chilly damp dawn without a dry
covering. "Call him back then."

"Not I!" retorted Little. "Think I'm no better a sailor than that, after
all I've learnt? Shame on you, Jack Barry! Me, I eat oakum and drink
tar, and if I can't sleep in water, I'll keep awake. Turn in, you poor
old fish. I'll keep watch."

Barry went into the deckhouse, grinning, and the watch was set, leaving
the brigantine to the silent night. Little curled up inside the
deckhouse a