"It's been a perfectly topping day," declared Patrol Leader "Rusty" Rivett, of the 5th Weymouth Troop. "The way you followed that trail, Phillips, was awfully good!"
The Troop members of the junior school of Weymouth College had had a long day's scouting. The Midsummer Term exams were over, and, as two clear days remained before that long-anticipated event "breaking up", the Scouts had taken advantage of the time to put in a final tracking practice.
It was now about five in the afternoon. "Dentibus" Dence, "Boney" Barnicott, "Mutt" Thurgood, John Phillips, "Cock Sparrow" Rogers, and Ben Legge had rallied round their Patrol Leader, and were lying on the grass at the edge of the cliffs between Redcliff Point and Osmington Mills.
Upon second thoughts, it was hardly correct to say they were lying on the grass. The Scouts knew better than to rest their heated bodies on the turf. Each lad had under him his now empty haversack, the generous contents of which had found other homes since the Troop had set out from Weymouth that morning.
It was a glorious view that met their gaze. The blue waters of the bay were ruffled by the faintest suspicion of an on-shore breeze. The sky was cloudless, meeting the expanse of open sea in a blurred undefined line, cut by the misty shape of the Shambles Lightship. On their right they could see the crescent-shaped terrace comprising the town of Melcombe Regis, and the entrance piers of Weymouth Harbour. Beyond lay the spacious sheet of water, enclosed by Portland Breakwater, and dotted with war-ships of all sizes, from gigantic battleships to long, low-lying destroyers. Still farther beyond, the gaunt outlines of Portland cut the skyline until they sloped gradually to the famous Bill, off which the dreaded "race" was swirling and roaring as if fretting for its prey.
"I say," remarked Dentibus, pointing seaward, "what's that boat doing? Looks as if there's something wrong."
The others followed the direction of the extended forefinger. At about a quarter of a mile from shore was a large, grey-painted motor-boat being towed by two men in a dinghy. The men were straining at the oars, but progress was slow. They were evidently not making for Weymouth, but towards the beach immediately underneath that part of the cliffs upon which the Scouts were lying.
"Motor broken down," observed Rusty Riven, laconically. "Wouldn't like their job, swotting in the sun."
"Why do they want to land here?" asked Phillips. "There's no shelter if it should come on to blow."
"Ask me another," rejoined the Patrol Leader. "Perhaps they're fed up and are going to walk into Weymouth and get another motor-boat to tow them in."
"Can you make out her name?" asked Ben Legge.
"Hanged if I can," replied the Patrol Leader. "There is a name on the bows, but she's too far off to see what it is. My word, she's bigger than I thought!"
For some moments the Scouts watched in silence the tedious progress of the broken-down motor-boat. They could see the two rowers glancing frequently over their shoulders, as if gauging the distance that remained between them and the beach.
Presently the rowers found themselves on the fringe of the light ground-swell that was breaking upon the shore. Here they lay on their oars until the towed craft ranged up alongside the dinghy. Then, jumping on board the motor-boat, the pair proceeded to anchor.
"Here, you fellows!" exclaimed Phillips. "She's theOlivette. I can see the name distinctly now. Doesn't she belong to the Milford Sea Scouts? We read her log last year."
"Perhaps she isn't thatOlivette," objected Thurgood.
"She looks like the drawing in the log," persisted Phillips.
"If she is," said the Patrol Leader, "there don't appear to be any Sea Scouts on board. You've struck a false trail, Phillips."
John wasn't at all sure that he had. Being of an observant nature, and fairly smart at making feasible deductions, he wasn't going to abandon his theory until he was firmly convinced that his reasoning was at fault.
He said nothing, but thought the more. Meanwhile, one of the men had jumped into the dinghy and was holding her alongside. The other fellow went below, presently to reappear with a canvas sack. This he lowered into the stern-sheets of the dinghy, and casting off the painter, rejoined his companion.
After about twenty strokes the rower rested on his oars and said something to his chum, who was sitting on the dinghy's transom with his feet resting on the canvas sack. Apparently they did not like the aspect of the surf, for the fellow aft pushed the sack under the stroke thwart, and lowered himself on the stern bench.
With that the rower gave another glance shoreward over his shoulder, spat on his hands, and began pulling his hardest.
The dinghy rode the breaking swell in capital style until her forefoot touched the beach. Smartly the two men sprang out, knee deep in water, but they were not quick enough. Before they could haul the dinghy clear of the waves a sea poured over her quarter.
"Scouts to the rescue!" shouted Rivett.
There was no hanging back. Simultaneously the lads swung themselves over the shelving cliff, dropping or sliding from ledge to ledge; then, gaining the beach, they ran at top speed to the assistance of the two strangers.
The Scouts were hardly prepared for what happened next. The two men, after gazing dumbfoundedly for a few seconds at the apparition of seven active youngsters racing towards them, suddenly took to their heels and fled.
Checking his first impulse to follow in pursuit of the two men, Rusty Rivett halted his charges. Though the running figures appealed to the Scout's instincts much in the same way as a startled hare does to a dog, there was, after all, no justification for the chase, since no reason was apparent why the men should take to their heels.
"Get the boat above high-water mark," ordered the Patrol Leader. "All hands. Never mind getting your shoes wet."
It was a strenuous task, for by this time the dinghy had filled with water to the level of the transom. Watching their opportunity as the waves receded, the lads tilted the boat until she was nearly empty, and then, using the bottom boards to prevent the keel sinking in the soft beach, they eventually hauled their prize clear of the surf.
"What's in the sack, Rusty?" asked Thurgood.
The Patrol Leader hesitated before satisfying his curiosity. It seemed too much like meddling with someone's private property.
"Pots and pans, I think," said Barnicott, stirring the bulging sack with his foot.
Rivett unlashed the mouth of the sack.
"I say, you fellows," he exclaimed, "this is a rummy stunt. The bag's chockfull of silver. No wonder those blighters made themselves scarce; they're burglars." Here was a climax to a day's scouting, despoiling robbers of their booty. Still, the situation required careful handling. If the Scouts left the boat unattended, the thieves might return. If they separated forces, one party standing by while the others tracked the rogues, either part of the divided Troop would be insufficient to cope with two powerful and desperate men. It seemed remarkable that the two fellows should have landed with their booty in broad daylight instead of waiting until darkness set in.
"Any of you fellows know how to row?" he asked.
"I do," replied Phillips. "My father has a boat, and in the 'hols' I go fishing with him."
"Good man!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader approvingly. "You and I are going off to the motor-boat to take charge of her. Dentibus, old son, imagine you're doing the mile in the College sports, and cut off as hard as you can to Weymouth. Find our Scoutmaster, and tell him what has occurred. Ask him to bring a motor-boat along to tow us into the harbour. The others will double along to Osmington Mills and warn the coastguard. Phillips and I will keep a sharp look-out for signals if you have to semaphore to us. Give a hand with the dinghy first. The silver? We'll take that on board."
The little boat was successfully launched with no other casualty than a couple of wet shirts.
"Take care not to destroy the trail," cautioned Rusty from the dinghy, addressing the party told off for the purpose of reporting the incident to the coastguard.
Without much difficulty Rivett and Phillips boarded theOlivette. An examination of the boat resulted in the discovery, amongst other things, of a bundle of charts on each of which appeared the words: "1st Milford Sea Scouts".
"You're right then, John," remarked
image: 04_rescue.jpg
image: 04_rescue.jpg
[Illustration: "SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE!" SHOUTED RIVETT]
[Illustration: "SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE!" SHOUTED RIVETT]
Rusty. "This boat's been stolen. There's no doubt about that. It's up to us to do the Milford chaps a good turn by taking care of theOlivetteuntil they claim her."
Before very long a semaphore message was received from Barnicott.
"Coastguard has telephoned to Weymouth police," read the message.
"There's a boat coming this way," announced Phillips.
The Patrol Leader, who had been examining the motor, called back:
"Where from? From Weymouth?"
"No," replied the scout. "From Osmington. There are two coastguardsmen in her."
Rusty Rivett showed no enthusiasm over the intelligence. He wanted the rescue of theOlivetteto be a Scout "stunt", and he rather resented the coastguards butting in. That meant complications.
"Cheerio, my hearty!" exclaimed one of the "Bobbies", as the skiff-dinghy ranged alongside. "We'll relieve you. Jim, put these Scouts ashore in our boat."
Rusty got his back up. He belied his nickname, for there was precious little oxydization of grey matter about him.
"Thanks," he replied. "We're staying on board."
"You'll be sea-sick for a dead cert," said the coastguard insinuatingly. "There's a bit of a lop on. Best go ashore afore you musters your bag."
"I beg your pardon," rejoined Rusty politely, "I haven't a bag to muster. There's a sack on board, but that's going to be handed over to the Weymouth police."
The man began to grin at the first part of the Patrol Leader's reply, but towards the end he looked decidedly glum. Unless he could persuade the Scouts to leave the vessel, he and his mate were "out of it" as far as salvage was concerned. Rusty knew that. He was determined to do the Milford Sea Scouts a good turn, which included a saving of money that otherwise would have to be paid to the Receiver of Wrecks.
"You weren't born yesterday, I see," observed the coastguard caustically.
"No," replied the Patrol Leader sweetly. "In 1906. But that's neither here nor there, is it?"
"Are you staying on board all night?" inquired the man. "If so, like as not this 'ere boat'll drag and come up on the beach. You'd better——"
"Stay where I am," interrupted Rivett. "For a little while: yes. As a matter of fact we're expecting a motor-boat from Weymouth to tow her in."
The two coastguards, finding that theOlivettewas in no immediate danger, thereupon rowed off. As they went, the Patrol Leader overheard one remark: "There ain't no flies on that Scout, Bill. Well, jolly good luck to him, says I."
Rusty repented his action. The whole-hearted opinion of the bluejacket showed that he was a good sort.
"Ahoy, there!" shouted the Patrol Leader. "Come back, please."
The men backed their oars and came alongside once more.
"Thought better on it?" asked the one addressed as Bill.
"Yes, and no," replied Rusty; "Look here: you think we're after salvage?"
"Sure," said the man.
"We're not," declared the Patrol Leader. "This boat belongs to the Milford Sea Scouts. She was stolen; we found her, and we mean to hand her back. Scouts do not receive rewards for doing good turns, especially to one another. And I quite see you wanted to stand in."
"That's so, sir," agreed Bill respectfully.
"Then take charge of the bag. It's full of silver stuff, probably stolen from somewhere. If there's a reward offered for its recovery, the money's yours."
With many expressions of thanks the two coastguards rowed of with the booty, and before their boat reached the beach of Osmington Mills, a motor-boat was observed leaving Weymouth and heading for theOlivette.
It was the rescue party, consisting of the Scoutmaster of the 5th Weymouth Troop, the skipper and owner of the motor-boat, Dentibus Dent, and two other members of the Troop, who had not taken part in the day's operations.
"Well done, Rivett," exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "We'll take theOlivettein tow. Signal to the rest of the Troop to make their way back to the college. Can you two fellows manage the anchor by yourselves?"
An hour later theOlivettewas safely moored close to the bridge in Weymouth Harbour. The Scoutmaster and the Patrol Leader proceeded at once to the Post Office, where they dispatched a telegram to the Milford Sea Scouts: "YachtOlivettehere in charge of 5th Weymouth Troop. Undamaged. Come for her at any time."
This was the reassuring message that Mr. Armitage read. It had a great effect upon the hitherto tired, jaded, and dispirited Sea Scouts. Smiles came back to their bronzed features, and the disappointing cruise in theMudlarkin search of theOlivettewas almost forgotten.
"The police have been active too," said Mr. Armitage. "There's been a burglary at Hordle, and a quantity of valuable silver plate stolen. The theory is that the burglars found their way to Keyhaven and embarked on theOlivettewith the swag. There's a reward of fifty pounds for the recovery of the missing property."
"I met a couple of fellows about midnight, sir," reported Stratton. "They were carrying a heavy sack, and didn't answer when I said 'Good-night!' Of course, the idea never entered my head that they were going to steal theOlivette."
"And they went westward," added Hepburn. "All the time we thought they were making for Cowes or Southampton."
"Perhaps they started in that direction purposely to deceive anyone on the look-out on shore," suggested Mr. Armitage. "If the morning were at all misty here (it was at Southampton when I came through by train) they might easily slip over to the Isle of Wight shore and through the Needles Channel."
"What puzzles me," remarked Roche, "is how they got so far with no paraffin and only a gallon or so of petrol on board."
"That is an interesting point," agreed the Scoutmaster. "No doubt we'll find out more about it later on. Now the best thing you can do is to turn in and make up arrears of sleep, because to-morrow we journey to Weymouth to bring the truant home."
At seven the following morning the Sea Scouts assembled for their long march to the railway station. Each lad carried a couple of blankets, toilet requisites, and a well-filled haversack. Somewhere in the vicinity, but making his presence as inconspicuous as possible, was Bruin. The dog, with that unerring instinct which animals possess, knew that something was on the cards, and he didn't mean to be out of it if he could help it.
Peter had left him at home in spite of the pleading look in the animal's eyes, but had not been gone five minutes before the dog succeeded in making his way upstairs and jumping through an open window on to the veranda. The ensuing eight-feet drop was nothing to him. He alighted on the ground, and was off like a young tornado, in spite of the admonition of Peter's mother to "come back like a good doggie".
Having decided that theOlivette'screw were about to travel somewhere by train, Bruin took time by the forelock and preceded the Sea Scouts to the station. Then, crouching behind a pile of luggage, he awaited developments.
Upon arriving at the station Mr. Armitage took the tickets. When the train steamed in there was a rush for seats, the Scoutmaster, Roche, Flemming, and Woodleigh finding room in one compartment, and the rest of the crew in another, which happened to be immediately in front of the guard's van.
Bruin waited. He saw the carriage door being shut, but beyond stiffening himself he made no attempt to quit his place of concealment.
The guard blew a whistle and waved a green flag.
That was what the knowing dog was waiting for. With a flying leap Bruin jumped through the open window of the compartment where Peter was, landing on the knees of the astonished Patrol Leader.
"It's too late to chuck me out now," said Bruin, in doggie language. "But, after all, you don't mind, do you?"
Peter patted the dog's head with one hand, while with the other he felt for his purse, making a mental calculation of the fare for a dog from Milton (the nearest railway station to Milford) to Weymouth.
When at length the Sea Scouts detrained at their destination, they quickly realized that they were not strangers in a strange land, for they were met by a number of Scouts, whose shoulder badges announced them as belonging to the 5th Weymouth Troop.
"Awfully good of you to take charge of theOlivette," said Mr. Armitage to the Weymouth Scoutmaster.
"Not at all," protested the other. "All in a day's work, so to speak. No; the thieves are not yet in custody, but the police have several very good clues. The rascals apparently couldn't manage the motor, or, rather, they ran short of fuel; because they hailed a motor-boat off Christchurch Head and borrowed a couple of tins of petrol. They left the compass—your compass—as a security for payment. The crew of the boat supplying the petrol read of the robbery and the disappearance of theOlivettewhen they returned to Poole, and they immediately reported the matter of the meeting at sea to the police."
"That solves the mystery of how they carried on so far," said Roche. "I know they had only enough petrol for about an hour's run. But our compass?"
"You'll get that back all right," declared the Weymouth Scoutmaster. "It will probably cost you the price of two tins of petrol, but it will be worth it. They left you your magneto, remember."
Scouts and Sea Scouts wended their way to the long narrow harbour. There, moored alongside a steam yacht, lay theOlivette, looking, outwardly at least, none the worse for her unauthorized jaunt.
"I've left the dinghy at the steps of the bridge," said Patrol Leader Rusty Rivett. "Sparrow Rogers is in charge of her. You are not starting away at once, I hope."
"'Fraid so," replied Patrol Leader Peter Stratton. "As soon as we take in enough paraffin for the run home. You see, we've started our hols, and we are planning a voyage across Channel. We may even get to Paris."
"How pricelessly topping!" ejaculated Rusty enviously. "It makes me wish I were a Sea Scout, although we Scouts don't have half a bad time. Sorry you can't stay, though we should have liked to show you round. But you must come to Weymouth again, and then we can give you a good time."
Peter went up to Mr. Armitage and saluted.
"Couldn't we invite the 5th Weymouth Troop for a trip, sir?" he asked. "We could land them at Lulworth on the way home."
"Certainly," was the reply. "That is, of course, if they don't mind padding the hoof from Lulworth."
The Scouts were quite enthusiastic over the proposal, while the Scoutmaster seemed quite keen to prolong his acquaintance with Mr. Armitage, for they had discovered that they had another thing in common besides Scoutcraft—both had held commissions during the war, one in the R.N.V.R., the other in the army.
The Weymouth Scouts hurried off to provide themselves with food: Roche and Flemming departed to interview a garage proprietor with a view to obtaining petrol and paraffin, while the rest of the Sea Scouts proceeded on board theOlivetteto see if anything besides the compass were missing, and to clear up and snug down before their guests came off.
Just before twelve o'clock theOlivettestarted with her double complement on board. It was not an ideal time for a quick passage, as the tide was setting to the west'ard. Fortunately the motor started up easily, in spite of the fact that the two rascals who had stolen the boat had been too lavish in the use of lubricating oil.
"That's better than giving her too little," declared Roche the optimist. "She's running like a clock."
The day was clear and bright, with a calm sea and a hot sun shining in an unclouded sky. What little wind there was blew off the land. Provided the range of visibility held, the absence of a compass mattered but little.
TheOlivettekept close inshore, so that the guests could point out the interesting features of the Dorset coast, which they knew intimately; but presently some of the Weymouth lads looked rather puzzled.
They were too polite to express their perplexity at the manoeuvres of Hepburn, who was at the helm of theOlivette.
Alan, constantly referring to the chart, was feeling none too certain of his position. He kept looking shorewards, trying to determine the various prominent objects.
Presently Phillips, who had been sitting on the coach-roof, descended into the well, made his way past the motor, and climbed upon the raised bench in the wheel-house.
"I say," he remarked, "are you taking us straight to Keyhaven?"
"Dash it all, no," replied Hepburn. "What put that idea into your head? We are going to land you at Lulworth."
"Really," rejoined John. "Do you know you are past Lulworth already?"
On deck the two Scoutmasters were enjoying the joke, although it was rather a set-back to Mr. Armitage, who had been dilating upon the youthful helmsman's skill in coastal navigation.
To them came Stratton.
"One of the Weymouth fellows says we have overrun Lulworth, sir," he reported.
"'Fraid you have," agreed Mr. Armitage. "It's over there."
He pointed over the port quarter to what appeared to be a small rift in the cliffs.
"That's Lulworth, Peter," he added.
"Why, sir," exclaimed the astonished Patrol Leader, "it's so small we couldn't possibly take theOlivettein there."
"You are not the first to make that remark," observed the Weymouth Scoutmaster. "Many yachtsmen have mistaken Mupe Bay andWorbarrow Bayfor Lulworth Cove. The coastguard look-out hut on the western cliff is the best mark to distinguish it."
Meanwhile Alan had put the helm hard-a-starboard, "meeting" it when the boat's head pointed towards the entrance.
As the distance decreased, the real magnitude of the entrance became apparent. In reality, instead of being only twenty yards in width, as Peter had imagined, it was more than four times that distance. On either hand the cliffs rose sheer, with a heavy ground-swell lashing the base of the rocks.
"Keep a bit more over to the eastern side," cautioned Mr. Armitage. "Right—at that. There's plenty of water."
"Hadn't we better clear away the anchor, sir?" asked Stratton.
"Not yet," was the reply. "There'll be heaps of time when we're inside the cove. Anchor work on the foredeck with this swell on is a bit too risky, especially when it's not really necessary."
The entrance was farther away than the crew imagined, and when at length theOlivetteglided into the landlocked cove, they were too busy getting ready to anchor fully to appreciate their surroundings.
"Easy.... Stop.... Touch astern!" ordered Stratton. Then, "Let go!"
The anchor plunged to the bottom of the cove, and when the disturbed sand settled, the lads could distinctly see the "hook" embedded in the ground two fathoms beneath the keel.
"I say," remarked Flemming. "We're too close inshore, aren't we?"
He pointed to a pebbly beach at the base of a frowning cliff. The rounded stones appeared to be less than fifty yards away, but presently a man walking along the shore banished the deception, for the "pebbles" were really large boulders, and the size could not be estimated with any degree of accuracy unless by comparison with the height of a known object.
"It's a place for surprises," observed the Weymouth Scoutmaster. "The stupendous cliffs destroy one's sense of proportion. As a matter of fact we are quite a hundred and fifty yards from the beach. Are you coming ashore?"
"We can spare two hours for exploration," replied Mr. Armitage. "By that time we'll pick up a fair tide round St. Alban's Head. I'm thinking of putting into Poole to-night in order to recover our compass."
Three times the dinghy ferried parties of Scouts to the beach, until theOlivette, deserted, lay rolling heavily in the sheltered basin.
"How would you like to tumble from the top of that cliff to the bottom, Rayburn?" asked Patrol Leader Rusty Rivett, addressing the Sea Scout Tenderfoot.
"Wouldn't like it at all," replied Rayburn, throwing back his head and looking upwards. "Why do you ask?"
"'Cause it's been done," replied Rivett. "A girl fell over the cliff, a height of between three hundred and four hundred feet, and landed alive at that spot where you see a notice board. The notice tells you all about it."
"Stratton's brother jumped out of a balloon over a thousand feet up," declared the Tenderfoot, not to be beaten in the anecdote line. "He fell five hundred feet before the parachute opened, didn't he Peter?"
The lads roamed over the downs surrounding the cove, and inspected the remarkable Stair Hole, where the strata shows curious "faults", the lines resemblinga series of semicircles. They climbed to the look-out hut, whence by the aid of the coastguard's telescope they could see a wide expanse of cliff, terminating at the frowning headland of St. Albans; while from the elevated post the cove looked little bigger than a bath-tub, and theOlivettelike a toy boat floating on it.
"Time for us to part company," announced Mr. Armitage. "You've had more than two hours."
Reluctantly the Scouts and Sea Scouts bade each other farewell. The former expressed themselves as being more than repaid for their good turn by the trip in theOlivette.
"And mind you come to Weymouth again when you have the chance," said Phillips. "Right-o," replied Peter. "But I hope we don't have to come for the same purpose. We had a rotten time until we knew theOlivettewas safe."
The Sea Scouts re-embarked in the dinghy. Bruin preferred to swim off to the boat, but before he was hauled on board he felt very sorry for himself.
TheOlivettewas still rolling heavily in the long gentle swell. It was quite a different motion from that in a seaway—a long swing-like movement that would quickly put the most experienced seafarer on his mettle.
Watching their opportunity as theOlivetterolled towards them, the Sea Scouts gained the deck. Roche made the painter fast, while Peter and Eric Flemming lay at full length on the waterways in order to haul Bruin on board.
It was a ticklish task, for the dog realized the danger of being crushed by the boat's bilge keel as she rolled. Twice the Patrol Leader made a grab at the animal's collar as the gunwale dropped to within a few inches of the water.
At the third attempt his fingers closed round the scruff of Bruin's neck.
"Got him!" he shouted. "Bear a hand, Eric."
Flemming leaned outboard to assist his chum. As he did so theOlivettebegan to roll in the opposite direction. Peter, still hanging on to his pet with one hand, grasped Eric's wrist with the other. Bruin's weight when clear of the water considerably exceeded Stratton's expectations, with the result that the Patrol Leader lost his balance and toppled overboard, bringing Flemming with him.
A roar of laughter from the rest of the crew greeted the reappearance of the two lads. Both were good swimmers, and as they came to the surface well clear of theOlivette'shull, they were in no danger. Even Peter and Eric grinned when they shook the water from their hair and eyes, while Bruin, delighted beyond measure at the idea that his master and Flemming were sharing his bath, began tugging at Stratton's sleeve.
At length Roche jumped into the dinghy and hauled Peter over the transom. Then the Patrol Leader hiked his pet over the stern and assisted Flemming into the dinghy, while Roche scrambled into the bows in a vain attempt to escape a shower-bath as the dog vigorously shook himself.
A few minutes later theOlivette'smotor was running. The anchor was weighed and secured, then with three ringing cheers for the 5th Weymouth Troop, who still lingered on the beach, the Sea Scouts resumed their homeward voyage.
It was one of those ideal days for cruising under power. The sea was smooth, visibility good, with the sun shining brightly overhead. The rugged coast, never more than a mile away on the port hand, presented an ever changing panoramic view of the picturesque Dorset coast.
With Woodleigh at the helm and Roche giving an occasional look at the smoothly-running motor, the rest of the crew knew that they had nothing to worry about. Slipping off their jerseys, they lay upon the deck, basking in the glorious sunshine, too happy and contented even to indulge in conversation beyond a few words of appreciative admiration or the superb view.
"Port helm a couple of points, Woodleigh," ordered the Patrol Leader, after consulting the chart. "We'll have to give Kimmeridge Ledges a wide berth."
Mr. Armitage, hearing the caution, nodded his head approvingly. Stratton had acted upon his own initiative in spite of being a stranger to this part of the coast. The Scoutmaster had placed the responsibility upon the lad's shoulders, and Peter had shown that the trust had not been accepted lightly.
"Isn't that where theTrevealwas wrecked two winters ago, sir?" asked Flemming.
"Yes," replied Mr. Armitage, pointing shorewards. "About there. Every vestige of the vessel has disappeared by this time. It's a bad piece of coast, with parallel reefs extending seawards. A vessel doesn't stand a dog's chance if she gets held up on those ledges."
"Why don't they have a lighthouse?" asked Hepburn. "One on St. Alban's Head would warn seamen."
"I don't know," replied Mr. Armitage. "If there had been one where you suggest, Alan, it would have saved a good many precious lives. You see, Anvil Point Lighthouse, which is hidden by St. Alban's Head, is useless to a ship that is driven too close inshore. Now then, you fellows, unless you want a ducking, you'd better come aft. We're nearing the Race."
Less than half a mile ahead the otherwise smooth sea was agitated with a patch of white-crested breakers extending seawards for more than a couple of miles. Even at that distance the waves looked decidedly dangerous.
"We've got to go through that, sir?" asked Warkworth. "Isn't there any way to avoid it?"
"By keeping a tremendous way out," replied the Scoutmaster. "It's fairly rough, but I've known it decidedly worse. Woodleigh."
"Sir?"
"Steer straight for the headland now. There's plenty of water. We shall probably miss a lot of the race by keeping close to the cliff—twenty yards will be near enough."
"What causes a race, sir?" asked the Tenderfoot.
"The tide surging over a submerged ledge," replied Mr. Armitage. "It's deep water on both sides of the headland and only a few fathoms over the rocks extending seawards from it. Now, you fellows, all hands into the well; we don't want anyone slung overboard into the ditch."
"The dinghy, sir?" inquired Flemming.
"She won't hurt. Her painter's sound," replied the Scoutmaster. "There's enough scope to prevent her overrunning us and smashing her bows under our counter."
In another minute theOlivettewas within the influence of the race. At first she began to yaw in spite of the helmsman's efforts to keep her on her course. It seemed as if a giant hand was gripping the boat's keel and playfully shaking the hull.
Then, almost without warning, a sea poured over the starboard quarter. Much of the water was checked by the coaming, but a considerable quantity found its way below, liberally besprinkling the crew. Almost immediately after, another cataract poured in over the port quarter. For a moment it felt as if theOlivettewere dropping vertically, then another sea, slapping viciously against her starboard bow, threw her head off a good four points.
The helmsman ported helm to meet the deflection, but for some seconds the vessel refused to answer. Almost the whole of the rudder was out of water, while the propeller was racing madly in the air.
The passage through the race was of short duration, but it was fairly strenuous while it lasted. Then, as suddenly as she had entered the turmoil, theOlivetteglided into practically calm water.
"Ugh!" ejaculated Flemming, shaking the water from his clothes. "I don't like races; give me a straightforward heavy sea any old day. I expected the old boat to break her back."
"It is a disconcerting motion, I admit," said Mr. Armitage. "The waves are so hollow that the boat was not evenly supported. But it would take more than that to break her back, Eric."
Dancing Ledge and Anvil Point were quickly passed. The crew were deeply interested in the famous Tilly Whim Caves, where for centuries smugglers and wreckers were in almost indisputable possession. Then the lads had a clear view of the granite "globe", although they were a bit disappointed at its size.
"It's not much bigger than a football," declared Woodleigh.
"Isn't it?" remarked Mr. Armitage drily. "You wouldn't care to have to kick it, Will. You've lost your sense of proportion. The magnitude of the cliffs deceives you. See a buoy ahead?"
"On our starboard bow, sir."
"Then keep it well to port. That marks the tail of Peveril Ledge. You'll see Swanage opening out in a minute or so."
A few miles farther on and the granite cliffs gave place to frowning walls of glistening white chalk, terminating in the well-known pinnacle of Old Harry.
"We're getting into familiar waters now," said the Scoutmaster. "We were close—rather too close—to that point when we rescued the S.S.Pent-y-coote."
"But we never saw the land," added Flemming.
"No; but we might have hit it," remarked Mr. Armitage gravely. "Providence was kind to us that day. Hello, Peter what is interesting you—the Parson's Barn?"
The Patrol Leader was gazing landwards towards a large cave close to Old Harry.
"There are some people waving to us, sir," he replied.
"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Armitage sharply; then raising his binoculars he brought them to bear upon the spot indicated by the Patrol Leader. "Friends of yours, Peter?" inquired Flemming facetiously. The Scoutmaster returned his binoculars to their case.
"Stand in a bit," he ordered. "There's plenty of water. Slow her down, Roche, and stand by. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, those people are cut off by the tide."
TheOlivetteapproached at half speed to within a cable's length of the shore. Mr Armitage was correct in his surmise, for, standing on a narrow strip of beach were two men and two girls. The men were barefooted, as if they had vainly attempted to wade past the foot of the cliffs. Already the tide was rising rapidly, and in less than an hour their refuge would be invaded by the sea.
"Away dinghy's crew!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Be careful how you land. There's a ground swell running."
TheOlivettelost way. The dinghy was hauled alongside, and into her jumped Stratton and Flemming, each manning an oar.
Proceeding cautiously, they allowed the dinghy's forefoot to ground lightly on the pebbly beach. Flemming, with an oar, kept the stern end on to the waves, while the Patrol Leader held on to the bows.
"Think we'll manage the lot, Peter?" asked Flemming in a low voice. "Four of them?"
"I think so," replied the Patrol Leader.
"Now, please," he added, raising his voice. "As sharp as you can. We're bumping a bit."
It was a tricky operation, embarking the rescued persons, for none of them seemed at home in a small boat.
"Sit down, please," ordered Stratton firmly. "You'll be quite all right if you keep still. Ready, Eric? Right-o, push off."
By the united efforts of the two Sea Scouts the dinghy was backed clear of the beach. Then, when clear of the swell, the boat was turned until her bow pointed seaward.
"Give way together!" exclaimed Peter.
Awkwardly the four trippers climbed out of the dinghy upon theOlivette'sdeck, whence they were assisted into the well.
"Rather an experience, isn't it?" remarked Mr. Armitage. "Experience?" echoed one of the men bitterly. "It was a disgraceful bit of work. A boatman told us we could walk right round the point. We could—but we couldn't get back. He never said a word about the tide rising."
"And you never thought to ask," mused the Scoutmaster. "There's not much harm done," he added aloud. "We'll land you in half an hour. Are you staying at Swanage?"
"No, at Bournemouth," replied one of the girls, who, now that the danger was over, showed more spirit than either of her male companions.
"So much the better, then," observed Mr. Armitage. "We can land you without going out of our course."
"We are awfully grateful," said the girl.
"And we are glad to be able to do you a good turn," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "That's where Sea Scouts come in handy."
"Are we staying here long, sir?" asked Hepburn.
"That depends upon how soon we recover our compass," replied the Scoutmaster. "Why did you ask?"
"Because I'd like to take these films ashore and get them developed, sir," explained Alan.
Mr. Armitage looked rather surprised.
"I thought you did your own developing and printing," he remarked.
"Usually, sir," replied the lad, "but I've taken something that might be a bit exciting, and I'm in a hurry to see the result."
TheOlivettewas lying off Poole, in an anchorage locally known as "off Stakes".
It was well above the approach-channel to the quays, and consequently, out of the way of traffic, except for a few yachts and fishing-boats and an occasional barge engaged in carrying clay.
"Right-o," agreed Mr. Armitage. "I'm going ashore now to make inquiries. Anyone else for the beach?"
At length the dinghy pushed off, Hepburn and Warkworth rowing, and the Scoutmaster in the stern-sheets. The rest of the crew elected to remain on board, especially after seeing a man in a neighbouring yacht hook a couple of flounders in quick succession. They, too, meant to try their luck with hook and line.
"How about bait?" inquired Flemming. "There's a youngster digging for ragworms on the mud-flats. We'll hail him and get him to sell us some."
The boy quickly responded to the hail, and plodding along on mud-pattens to the water's edge, jumped into a flat-bottomed punt and rowed off to theOlivette.
A bargain was soon struck, and for the sum of sixpence Flemming obtained a rusty tin containing between thirty and forty slimy, writhing worms. The hooks were baited and the lines paid out. Patiently the "band of hope" waited, but save for the quivering of the lines in the tideway, the ground tackle was quite idle.
"Slow work this," observed Roche, giving envious glances at the fellow on the neighbouring yacht, who was hauling in prizes with unfailing regularity. "How is it that that merchant has all the fun, and we don't get so much as a bite?"
The sun set in a blood-red sky, betokening a continuance of fine weather. As the orb of day disappeared behind the distant hills the young flood set in.
Then did the Sea Scouts' luck change. "Dabs", plaice, and flounders were hauled on board in quick succession, until a pailful of fish represented the combined efforts of four lads in under half an hour.
Suddenly Flemming gave a shout of astonishment as his line was almost jerked out of his hand.
"I've hooked a whopper!" he exclaimed. "Doesn't the thing tug?"
"Play with him, then," suggested Peter. "He'll break your line if you don't."
"He's almost broken my fingers," rejoined the excited sportsman. "That's the whole of my line, too."
"Haul in gently," cautioned the Patrol Leader. "For goodness sake don't lose the fish."
Inch by inch, foot by foot, the thin line came inboard, until a furious swirl announced that the "catch" was not far from the surface.
The rest of the Sea Scouts left their lines and crowded round the wildly excited Flemming.
"It's a twenty-pounder, Eric," declared Woodleigh. "You're in luck."
"Twenty-pounder!" ejaculated the wellnigh breathless Flemming scornfully. "Feels like a ton.... Hello! What is it?"
"An eel—conger, most likely," declared Stratton, as a hideous head appeared. "Stand by with your knife, Woodleigh, and nick the brute behind the neck when Flemming gets it on board."
Resisting to the last, the salt-water reptile was hauled up the side and thrown on deck. At the second attempt Woodleigh succeeded in hacking the eel just behind its head.
"That's settled it!" he declared. "What an ugly brute. Now, if old Boldrigg were here, he'd have the eel skinned in a brace of shakes, and would wrap the skin round his ankle."
"What for?" asked Rayburn.
"He says an eel's skin is a certain cure for his rheumatism," replied Woodleigh.
"Old sailor's superstition, more'n likely. When——"
"Coil down and stand by, lads," ordered the Patrol Leader. "Here's Mr. Armitage coming off in the dinghy."
"Well, lads, I see you've had some luck," was the Scoutmaster's greeting as he boarded theOlivette, nearly slipping on a flat-fish as he did so.
"Yes, sir," replied Peter; "more than a pailful of them. The one that nearly threw you must have wriggled on to the deck."
"What do you think of this eel, sir?" asked Flemming.
"It's certainly of a decent size," said Mr. Armitage, turning the eel over with his foot. "Ready for supper? I am."
"Roche is cook, sir," announced the Patrol Leader. "He's in the galley now cleaning fish, I think."
"They're cleaned already and in the frying-pan," shouted the cook, who had overheard the dialogue between Mr. Armitage and Stratton. "Get the gear out on the table, Alan, and everything will be ready in a quarter of an hour."
By the time the anchor-lamp was lighted and hoisted, and everything on deck made snug for the night, supper was announced.
"How about the eel?" asked Flemming. "Where is it? Has anyone taken it below?"
No one had seen it during the last ten minutes. A search on the foredeck produced no satisfactory result.
"P'r'aps the thing wasn't dead after all," suggested Warkworth.
"It was as dead as a door nail," declared Flemming, somewhat disappointed at the loss of his trophy. "Did any careless blighter kick it overboard, I wonder?"
"I don't see that it matters very much," said Peter. "None of us like stewed eels, but of course we might have given it away to someone."
The Sea Scouts trooped below to the after cabin, where the supper things were already laid.
Roche thrust his head through the open doorway.
"We're short of water," he declared. "It took quite a time to fill the kettle."
"What?" exclaimed Stratton. "Why, we only filled the tank the day before we launched the boat. Are you sure it's empty?"
"Look for yourself, my festive," suggested Flemming.
Peter went for'ard. Under the wheel-house was a tap communicating with the fresh-water tank under the foredeck. Upon turning the tap the Patrol Leader had to come to the conclusion that the cook's report was correct. There was only a slight trickle of water.
"Evidently our friends the thieves were a bit heavy on the fresh water," remarked Mr. Armitage. "Wonder what they used such a quantity for? Fortunately there's enough to make the cocoa with. To-morrow we'll run alongside the quay and fill up by means of a hose."
The night passed without incident, although Bruin persisted in barking at the few belated craft that were making for their moorings. The Sea Scouts were getting used to this sort of thing, for whenever theOlivettewas in a strange harbour, the dog seemed to have a fixed idea that no other boat ought to be in the vicinity; and when, as often happened, there was another dog to be seen, Bruin simply bristled with indignation and barked the more. "Water rats," as the longshore thieving fraternity are called, wouldn't have much chance surreptitiously to acquire theOlivette'sgear when Bruin was on board.