Selkirk, the chief engineer, was a Scotsman whose whole existence seemed bound up in his beloved motors. He was a comparatively young man, with thin drawn features and a crop of sandy hair. When off duty he possessed a vein of dry humour that belied the oft-repeated statement that a man born north of the Tweed can never appreciate a joke; but while on duty his attention to his particular work was beyond reproach. "No. 3 propeller on port side, sir," he exclaimed. "Wurkin' a wee bit loose." "Then disconnect the shafting," replied Captain Brookes. "Will ye no stop the ship awhile, sir. Wi' the shaft at rest the propeller may hauld on, but I ha' ma douts. An' ye'll call to mind we've no spare wan." "In that case we'll haul it aboard. It's the best thing to be done, Mr. Selkirk. How long do you think it will take the divers to unkey it?" "A matter of twa hoors, sir." "Then carry on. I'll give orders to bring-to. Mr. Slade, tell the bo's'un's mate to warn the diving party for duty." By this time the _Olive Branch_ had outrun the storm, though by the erratic behaviour of the mercury there was every reason to expect a repetition of the gale. Nevertheless, there was a long heavy sea on, so that the task of shipping the defective propeller was hazardous both to the divers and the working party on deck. When at length the propeller was hoisted in over the side Selkirk was on the verge of despair; for one of the phosphor bronze fans was so badly fractured that it was a marvel how the greater part of the blade had not been torn away. "Yes, it's a bad job," asserted Captain Brookes, "but it cannot be helped. There's only one thing to be done, and that is to make for some secluded creek, take the fan ashore, and weld it. I don't think we can do better than make for Desolation Inlet." [Illustration: chapter XVI] CHAPTER XVI IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE PATAGONIANS DESOLATION INLET is an unfrequented creek on the northern or Patagonian shores of the Magellan Straits. Save for the occasional visit of a hardy whaler the harbour is rarely occupied. The inlet well deserves its name. Imagine a tortuous channel of deep water, surrounded by lofty snow-clad mountains that tower to the height of 7,000ft., presenting the appearance of a Norwegian fjord without the beautifying effect of the foliage and pasture land in the intersecting valleys. For, with the exception of a few stunted pines and occasional patches of hardy, thorn-like scrub, vegetation does not exist. It was early in September, or towards the end of the winter of the Southern Hemisphere, when the _Olive Branch_ glided slowly up the placid waters of the creek. Although hardly a ripple disturbed the mirror-like surface, Desolation Inlet is subject to sudden storms that sweep down from the mountains with well-nigh irresistible force, so that their effect upon a slowly moving vessel was extremely dangerous.