[Illustration: THE HIGH-PRESSURE JET CAUGHT THE TENDERFOOT FULL IN THE FACE (missing from book)]
[Illustration: THE HIGH-PRESSURE JET CAUGHT THE TENDERFOOT FULL IN THE FACE (missing from book)]
Next morning Hepburn, who was "cook of the day", could only obtain enough fresh water for half a cup of tea per head, and then only by waiting patiently at the full-open tap while the water trickled slowly.
So directly the dry meal was over the crew set to work to take theOlivetteinto the harbour. Here they found no vacant berth alongside the quay, but under the harbourmaster's directions they brought up against a three-masted schooner flying the Italian ensign.
"TheGiuseppe Emilio," said Roche, reading the name on her stern. "She's a whacking big craft. Wonder what she's for?"
"Loading clay," replied Mr. Armitage. "There's a great quantity of clay shipped away from Poole. Stand by: here comes the hose."
As a matter of fact there were two hoses coupled together, leading from the hydrant on the quay across theGiuseppe Emilio'sdeck to theOlivette.
"How many gallons do you want, sir?" shouted the harbourmaster's assistant.
"Two hundred, please," replied the Scoutmaster; "we're all ready."
Roche had opened the deck-plate, and had inserted the nozzle of the hose into the three-inch pipe leading to the tank. There was a preliminary gurgle, and then like a young torrent the water poured into the tank.
"This is some stunt," declared Roche. "Better than pouring it in bucket by bucket as we usually do."
Before anyone could offer any remark, the tank overflowed. Roche, attempting to point the hose overboard, slipped on the streaming deck. Still grasping the nozzle, he sprawled at full length, while a high-pressure jet caught the Tenderfoot full in the face, hurling him backwards into Flemming's arms, and simply soaked every Scout in the well.
Before anyone could go to Roche's assistance, gallons of water had flowed into the boat. The Italian seamen, who were leaning over the bulwarks, screamed with amusement, until Woodleigh, grasping the nozzle, directed the jet upwards into their faces. Then their laughter gave place to furious gesticulations.
"Turn off!" shouted Stratton to the invisible attendant at the hydrant.
There was no response. It was not until the Patrol Leader hoisted himself on to theGiuseppe Emilio'schain-plates and crossed her deck and sprang ashore that the flow of water ceased.
"You said two hundred gallons," said the man, pointing to the meter attached to the hydrant, "and you've had less than eighty."
"And at least half of that wasted," added Stratton. "Something's wrong somewhere."
There was. Subsequent examination of the tank, which was possible by removing a watertight cover-plate, resulted in the discovery of Flemming's eel with its head wedged firmly in the outlet pipe. Although its head had been half severed, the eel had contrived to insert his tail under the deck-plate, and had prised open the metal cover sufficiently to enable it to wriggle down the feed-pipe into the tank. Then in a futile attempt to escape, the eel had jammed its head into the outlet, thus preventing the water to flow.
"There's some satisfaction in finding out why the water failed," remarked Mr. Armitage as he retired to his cabin to change his saturated garments.
"And how did your photographs turn out, Alan?" asked Mr. Armitage, when he reappeared on deck, none the worse for his involuntary shower bath.
"I haven't any prints yet, sir," replied Hepburn. "The man at the photographer's shop said he could only develop the films in the time. Here they are, sir."
The Scoutmaster took the proferred envelope, and from it extracted six films.
"Ah, that's good!" he exclaimed. "The 5th Weymouth Scouts on board theOlivette. Bruin begging—that's capital. Lulworth Cove—rather a large subject for so small a film, Alan. No. 4: Old Harry viewed from seaward. You'll have a good light-and-shade effect there when the film's printed. Hello! What in the name of creation is this—and this?"
Mr. Armitage held up the fifth and sixth films, first longway and then upright. Alan watched the Scoutmaster's puzzled expression with amusement, but offered no explanation of what the negatives were supposed to be.
"I can't make either of them out," he declared. "It might represent a view of St. Alban's Race taken from the masthead, but I know that you didn't go aloft, Alan. Perhaps some of the other fellows would like to have a shot at solving the mystery."
The two films were passed round, after the general caution being given to avoid touching or scratching the gelatine face.
"Looks like a complicated contour map," hazarded Flemming, "or fancy furrows on a hill-side. Is it?"
Alan smiled and shook his head.
"Give it up, then," said Flemming resignedly.
"Finger-prints," explained Hepburn. "Greasy finger-prints on the induction pipe of the engine. I spotted them directly we came on board, so I used the double extension of my camera and took a couple of time exposures. The finger-prints are almost certainly those of one of the thieves."
"Unless some of the Weymouth fellows touched the pipe," objected Roche.
"I don't think so," replied Hepburn. "For one thing they were made by rather a big man, for the actual marks were an inch and one-eighth wide."
"If your surmise is a correct one, Alan," said Mr. Armitage, "those negatives ought to be most useful to the police."
"That's what I thought, sir," replied the young amateur detective.
"Then you had better come ashore with me and see the superintendent," suggested the Scoutmaster. "It is the duty of every citizen to assist the police; but I hope by so doing we don't have to put off our trip across Channel."
"Might we have to do that, sir?" asked Roche in awestruck tones.
"More than likely," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "Especially if the thieves are arrested. The police will certainly call us, or some of us, as witnesses. Now, then I'm going ashore to interview the harbourmaster and find out the owner of the motor-yacht who supplied the thieves with petrol in exchange for our compass. One hand will have to remain on board. The others can have leave till eleven o'clock."
Mr. Armitage's task was accomplished quicker than he had anticipated. Inquiries resulted in the information that the holder of theOlivette'scompass was a well-known yachtsman, who, upon hearing the circumstances under which he had befriended the two thieves, handed back the gear without hesitation. At the police-station the Scoutmaster had to sign a statement, and when he produced the negatives of the finger-prints, the station-sergeant positively beamed with satisfaction.
"These ought to work the trick, sir," he remarked. "Scotland Yard will no doubt be able to identify the criminals. It's my belief that they are not fishermen but cracksmen well known to the Yard. You'll hear from us before very long, sir, I don't doubt."
Mr. Armitage made no audible comment. Personally he was not at all anxious to have to spoil his lads' holiday by attending police courts and the assizes. Mentally he decided to hurry up matters as far as the Paris trip was concerned, since there were witnesses sufficient to prove the culprits' guilt without the Sea Scouts being called upon to give evidence.
At noon theOlivettecast off and proceeded on the last stage of her homeward voyage. It was now blowing steadily from the sou'-west'ard, and with a fair tide outside the harbour the run seemed likely to be quickly performed.
With the last of the ebb theOlivettemade short work of the distance between Poole Quay and the Bar Buoy; then starboarding helm, shaped a course to pass a mile to the south'ard of Christchurch Ledge.
Exactly two hours after leaving Poole, the staunch little craft arrived at her moorings in Keyhaven Lake.
"Now, lads," said Mr. Armitage, "the sooner we make a proper start the better. It will take us the rest of to-day and the whole of to-morrow to get ready for our cross-Channel trip. You know your respective duties, so 'get on with it', as the Service saying goes. By the by, Hepburn, you're steward. There's one thing I want to remind you about. Don't take too many boxes of matches, or we may have trouble with thedouanierson the other side. Matches are taxable articles in France."
During the afternoon Mr. Armitage cycled over to Lymington to obtain the necessary clearance papers from the Customs, and to collect a bundle of charts and sailing directions for the French coast lent him by a yachting acquaintance.
In their Scoutmaster's absence the Sea Scouts toiled hard, for there was a lot to be done before the interrupted refit of theOlivettewas accomplished. Fresh water, fortunately, they had in plenty, but the paraffin- and oil-tanks required replenishing, and there was a considerable amount of spare gear to be brought down from the store.
That night Stratton, Roche, and Bruin were to sleep on board. In view of previous events the Patrol Leader decided to take no risks of another postponement.
After supper Peter and Roche took Bruin ashore for a run, and on the quay they encountered old Boldrigg.
"We're off to France the day after tomorrow, Mr. Boldrigg," announced Stratton, after he had related the circumstances under which theOlivettehad been taken to Weymouth and back again. "We're hoping to go right up to Paris, and perhaps we may get a chance of seeing some of the battlefields."
"Don't I wish I were a-comin' with ye, Master Peter," said the old man wistfully. "My boy, Jim—him as was a corporal—lies out yonder. I'd like to see his grave, but travellin' costs a sight o' money, an' I'm no hand at speaking the Frenchies' lingo. I'd be all adrift if I found myself over t'other side, I'm thinkin'."
"Haven't you been to France, Mr. Boldrigg?" asked Roche.
"Ay, sure," was the reply. "When I was in the oldAldebranon the Mediterranean Station back in the 'nineties I was ashore at Toulon. Things were a bit different to what they are now. We'd just had a bit of a tiff with Johnny Crapaud, an' he was still feeling a bit sore over it. We of the lower deck kept ourselves to ourselves, in a manner o' speaking, and didn't have no truck with the French bluejackets. That was long afore the 'Intent Cordyal', or whatever they calls it, came along. Are you taking Bruin with you?"
Peter shook his head.
"We can't, unfortunately. We'll miss him, but it cannot be helped. Well, we must be getting on board, Mr. Boldrigg, so we'll wish you 'Good night'."
Early next morning the task of provisioning and preparing theOlivettefor her voyage was resumed, and so quickly did the work progress that by noon everything was in readiness.
Suddenly Mr. Armitage, who had been consulting charts, navigation books, and tide tables, made an unexpected declaration.
"The wind's light and the glass steady," he observed. "I think it's a pity not to take advantage of the favourable weather conditions; so it would be advisable to make a start this evening. To my mind it is better to arrive off a strange coast soon after daybreak than just before sunset. It gives one a better chance of getting into harbour, especially as the mornings at this time of the year are generally calm. The wind, if you notice, usually pipes up about noon."
This announcement was greeted with cheers.
"And so," continued the Scoutmaster, "you had all better cut off to your respective homes and tell your parents of the alteration of plans. Don't forget to leave Bruin behind, Peter."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the Patrol Leader. Then, after a pause, he added, "There's one other matter I'd like to mention, sir, and we all hope you'll have no objection. I've been talking about it to the other fellows, and they are all keen about it."
"Fire away, then," said Mr. Armitage encouragingly.
"It's about old Boldrigg, sir," explained Stratton. "You know he's got a son buried out in France. He'd be awfully grateful if we'd give him a passage across and back."
"That will be a very practical good turn," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Right-o; call at his cottage on your way up, and tell him to be ready and on the quay at 4 p.m. He'll have to bring his own bedding and messtraps, but we've plenty of grub, tell him."
Joyfully the Sea Scouts rowed ashore, with Bruin between the Scoutmaster and the Patrol Leader in the stern-sheets.
Bruin was the only member of the party who displayed no enthusiasm. He seemed to know that, as far as he was concerned, there was "nothin' doin'"; but a close observer would have noticed a wrinkling of the hairy brows, and a pensive look in the animal's eyes, as he pondered the possibility of getting himself included in the ship's complement for the forthcoming trip.
Having told Mr. Boldrigg the joyful news that he could accompany the Sea Scouts across Channel, the lads dispersed to their several homes.
Profiting by previous experience, Peter did not lock his pet in his bedroom. Bruin was placed in a large shed that served as a workshop at the end of the garden, Mr. Stratton promising not to let the animal out until an hour after theOlivettehad slipped her moorings.
"That's right, old boy," said Peter, patting his pet's head. "Stop there a bit, and be a good little dog."
Bruin looked up at his master's face and gave a piteous howl.
"Yes, I know," continued Peter. "It's rough luck, old boy, very. You know I'd like to take you, but it's impossible."
Well to time, the crew of theOlivetteassembled on the shore. With them was old Tom Boldrigg, clad in canvas trousers and jumper, and a blue pilot-coat over his arm.
His luggage consisted of a rolled hammock and blankets, a canvas bag containing his shore-going kit, and a bundle done up in a blue handkerchief.
"You managed to get here, then, Boldrigg," was Mr. Armitage's greeting.
"Ay, ay, sir," was the cheery reply. "I fetched up along all right with my kit. It's mighty good of you, sir, to put up with the likes o' me."
"Not at all," protested the Scoutmaster. "You've the lads to thank. And we'll make good use of you, never fear."
"Glad of that, sir," rejoined the old sailor. "It shows you don't think I'm a worn-out old shell-back, like some of 'em does hereabouts."
The dinghy had to make two trips before the crew of theOlivetteand their belongings were placed on board. Then, while Roche and Flemming were "starting up" the motor, the others hoisted out the dinghy, and lashed her, keel uppermost, on the raised coach-roof over the engine.
"Now," announced Mr. Armitage, "we'll work in watches in the cross-Channel run. Peter, pick three of the hands and carry on till ten o'clock. I'll give you the course, but you must act entirely on your own account. I'll relieve you at ten, and carry on till daybreak."
"Very good, sir," replied Peter.
"Take her out by the Needles Channel," continued the Scoutmaster, "and shape a course to pass about a couple of miles south of St. Catherine's. You'll take your departure from that point, steering a compass course of S. 26° W. That's making allowance for deviation. Have you got that?"
"Yes, sir, S. 26° W. from St Catherine's," repeated the Patrol Leader.
"Good; now carry on, please. I'm off duty until ten o'clock."
Feeling vastly proud in the realization of his responsibility, Stratton proceeded to carry out instructions. He chose Roche, Woodleigh, and Rayburn to be in his watch, the Tenderfoot being included so that he would escape the night-watch from 10 p.m. till dawn.
"All ready, Roche?" inquired Peter, giving the wheel a preliminary turn. "Let go, for'ard."
Phil Rayburn, in spite of being termed a Tenderfoot, was no greenhorn. He knew his part of the task of casting loose the moorings.
"All gone, sir," he shouted, as the buoy splashed into the water.
"Touch astern!"
TheOlivetteglided more than her own length astern, until from the wheelhouse Peter could see the buoy bobbing in the water.
"Easy ahead!"
The boat quickly responded to the action of the propeller. A turn of the wheel gave her sufficient helm to avoid the buoy. Stratton was too good a helmsman to delay the start by getting his propeller mixed up with the mooring rope and chain.
"Full ahead!" shouted the Patrol Leader, in order to make himself heard above the noise of the engine. Then, with a grunt of satisfaction, Peter realized that the big adventure had actually started.
TheOlivettewas on her way across to La Belle France.
Although all on board were by this time well acquainted with the Isle of Wight coast, none of the "watch below" had any inclination to "turn in". The fact that they were actually on a voyage of a different nature from any they had previously undertaken was sufficient to keep all hands on deck.
Mr. Armitage offered no protest. He knew from experience that it was next to impossible to get the thoroughly excited youngsters to rest and sleep. With old Boldrigg it was another matter. He had volunteered to share Mr. Armitage's "trick", and he was too much of an old salt to stay on deck when there was an opportunity of a "caulk" below.
Before theOlivettewas abreast of Hurst High Light, Tom Boldrigg had descended to the fo'c'sle, where he immediately "got busy" by slinging his hammock. Just as he was about to turn in, a faint scuffling attracted his attention.
"Rats aboard this hooker," he soliloquized. "I'd best trice up my boots and gear clear of the deck or the blighters'll be nibbling 'em come morning."
With this resolve, Tom Boldrigg began to collect his "duds", when he heard a decided sneeze.
"Stowaway, eh?" he exclaimed. "Now, then, my hearty, whoever you be, out you come!"
Boldrigg waited for about half a minute, then, having decided that the stowaway was hiding in the tapering part of the fo'c'sle abaft the chain-locker, began to investigate in that direction.
Expecting to find a human being, he was considerably surprised when a moist tongue licked his hand.
"Why, it's a dog!" he exclaimed. "It's Bruin."
Realizing that the need for his concealment was over, Bruin emerged from his retreat, wagging his stumpy tail, but, contrary to custom, the animal made no attempt to bark.
"'Ere's a proper lash-up," soliloquized the old man. "That dog can't come along with us. That's a dead cert. But what's to be done with him? I'd best inform Master Stratton."
Peter's amazement at the news was too great for words. He could give no satisfactory explanation as to how his pet had escaped from the shed, evaded the crew, and succeeded in getting on board theOlivetteunperceived. Obviously Bruin could not have leapt from the water on to the boat's deck.
"He must have pulled himself up by the cable," suggested Roche. "Plucky little beggar. Let's take him along. No one will be any the wiser. We can smuggle him ashore."
It was a tempting suggestion. As Roche had said, it would be a comparatively easy matter to land Bruin in the almost unfrequented Keyhaven on their return, but——
"Can't be done," decided Peter. "For one thing, it's against the regulations; for another, it wouldn't be fair to other dog-owners. Suppose Bruin did get in contact with a French dog infected with rabies? We'll have to put back and land him."
"It's bad luck to put back, sir," declared Tom Boldrigg. "Ask any sailorman and he'll tell you. Times I've been on board a ship that's put back for something or other, and, sure as fate, there's been a run of bad luck."
It was certainly a bit of a dilemma. The Sea Scouts were reluctant to turn back now that they had started fairly upon the voyage; but, on the other hand, they knew that it was impossible to proceed with Bruin on board.
"I'll report to Mr. Armitage," declared the Patrol Leader.
But Bruin had already done so. Scratching with his fore paws, he succeeded in pushing open the door of the after cabin, where Mr. Armitage had retired to consult his charts and nautical books.
"What does this mean, Peter?" in a tone of marked disapproval. "Smuggling your dog on board at this time is a very serious matter."
"But I didn't smuggle him, sir," protested Stratton. "He found his way on board. None of us knew until Mr. Boldrigg found him in the forepeak."
"You locked him up at home?"
"Yes, sir. I cannot understand how he got loose. I suppose we must turn back."
Mr. Armitage climbed the iron ladder out of the cockpit and glanced shorewards. Hurst Castle and the Hampshire shore were now a couple of miles astern. Broad on the port beam lay Totland Bay and the cliffs of the western end of the Isle of Wight. Ahead, and slightly on the port bow, were the Needles.
"No," he replied after a brief survey. "Unless I'm much mistaken we won't have to retrace our course. Do you see that craft coming out of Alum Bay, Peter? I rather fancy she belongs to the Totland Sea Scouts."
The Patrol Leader focused his binoculars upon the little craft—an ex-service whaler with a dipping foresail and gaff mainsail. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "There's Mr. Mostyn, their Scoutmaster, in the stern-sheets."
"That's good enough, then," continued Mr. Armitage. "Run alongside and get them to take Bruin ashore. If they've no particular object in view, they will, I feel sure, land him on Milford beach for us."
TheOlivette'scourse was altered in order to intercept the whaler. When within a couple of hundred yards of the Totland Sea Scouts, Hepburn, holding a pair of hand-flags, stood erect upon the coach-roof.
It was not long before the Totland lads acknowledged the preparatory sign, and Alan proceeded to spell out a message, asking them if they would do a real good turn.
The whaler's canvas was lowered and the boat lost way, waiting for theOlivetteto range up alongside.
Briefly Mr. Armitage explained the nature of his request.
"Certainly," replied Mr. Mostyn. "We're just out for a practice spin, and we may as well run across to Milford as anywhere. Your dog will find his way home from there, I hope? So you're off across Channel? My word, Armitage, your lads are lucky fellows."
Bruin was obviously most reluctant to part company with theOlivette. Peter had to speak sternly to his pet, and even then the animal refused to enter the whaler.
There was no help for it. Knowing that Bruin would attempt to jump overboard from the whaler and swim after theOlivette, Stratton and Flemming lashed the dog's paws together and tied a bandage over his eyes. Then, in this helpless condition Bruin was passed over the side and placed in the stern-sheets of the Totland Sea Scouts' boat.
"Good-bye and good luck!" shouted Scoutmaster Mostyn, as the two craft drew off from one another. "We'll take care of your mascot, and see him safely ashore at Milford."
Amidst an exchange of farewells the whaler rehoisted her canvas, and, close hauled on the port tack, headed for the Hampshire shore, while theOlivette, increasing speed to eight knots, resumed her interrupted voyage.
Peter Stratton carried out his instructions to the letter. Upon rounding the Needles he steered in the direction of St. Catherine's, keeping a mile and a half from shore, in order to give a wide berth to the dangerous Atherfield Ledges, ridges of sharp rock that have sealed the fate of many a gallant ship and her crew. It was slow work plugging against a strong west-going tide, but, as Mr. Armitage had remarked, it was better to have a foul tide to begin with and a fair one when theOlivetteapproached the French coast, than the reverse.
At seven o'clock theOlivettewas in a position to "make her departure", and accordingly she was set on the given course for her eighty odd miles' run across the Channel.
"We're a long time losing sight of land," observed Woodleigh, when an hour later the chalk cliffs of St. Catherine's were still visible in the slanting rays of the sun.
"It's the height that tells," rejoined Peter. "We're a good ten miles off. We're running at eight knots only."
"Why only eight?" asked Rayburn.
"Because, if we cracked on at full speed we'd stand to pile ourselves upon the rocks on t' other side in the darkness," replied the Patrol Leader.
Stratton was kept fairly busy. TheOlivettewas now in the steamer track, where vessels proceeding up and down Channel make it a practice of keeping within certain limits of St. Catherine's. There were ships of all sizes and descriptions. A P. & O. liner, homeward bound, was passing a Bullard mail-boat on the way to the Cape and East Africa. Ambling along at a very modest speed were colliers, "tankers", and tramps, while a full-rigged Dutchman, carrying every stitch of canvas, formed a striking contrast to the mechanically propelled craft.
A little later a couple of destroyers, in line ahead, came pelting down Channel. Although they passed not less than a quarter of a mile from theOlivette, their "wash" broke furiously over the boat's bows, sending spray high above the wheelhouse.
Then, as theOlivettedrew away from the "lane", the stream of shipping ceased, and as sunset approached she was alone on a waste of placid water.
At ten the relief watch was called. Mr. Armitage came on deck wearing his pilot coat. He made no attempt to check the course or to offer any suggestions. He was placing his crew entirely on their mettle, but from what he saw he had no cause to criticize.
Stratton, having "handed over" to Warkworth, went below, where Hepburn had a hot supper ready for those of the crew who had come off duty.
"Where's Roche?" he inquired, seeing that the rest of the watch—Woodleigh and Rayburn—were already "tucking in" with avidity.
"Yarning with Flemming about something," replied Woodleigh. "I fancy there's trouble in the engine-room."
Presently Roche appeared.
"Lend me your torch, Peter, old son," he said.
"Aren't you grubbing?" asked the Patrol Leader.
Roche shook his head.
"I'm seeing this thing through first," he replied. "She's not been running well this last hour or two. Too rich a mixture, I think. Flemming and I are going to take the jet out, but before we start I want to see how much oil there is in the main tank."
Peter handed Roche his torch.
"We'll keep your grub hot," he added as the engineer hurried out of the cabin.
In less than a minute Roche returned.
"We're in a bad way," he announced. "She's been mopping up the juice like anything. The paraffin tank's nearly empty."
"Why, how's that?" asked Stratton.
"Punctured float, I'm afraid," replied Roche. "We'll have to stop the motor for half an hour or so."
"Right-o," assented the Patrol Leader, pushing away his cup, saucer, and plate. "I'll come and bear a hand. Have you reported to Mr. Armitage?"
The Scoutmaster received the news without expressing any suggestion.
"Carry on," he remarked.
The Sea Scouts accordingly "carried on". They had but one red lamp on board in addition to the port light. Two red masthead lights were required to indicate that theOlivettewas not under command. It was the Tenderfoot who solved the problem by suggesting that the white masthead light should be covered with the fold of the Red Ensign.
The "not under command" lights were hoisted, and the port and starboard ones extinguished. The ignition to the motor was switched off, and Stratton, Roche, and Flemming proceeded to take down the carburetter, while Woodleigh held the electric torch to enable them to see what they were doing.
They worked methodically, placing a piece of canvas under the carburetter to catch any nut that might be accidentally dropped, while all the loose parts were carefully placed in a small tin box.
The float was deftly removed.
"It feels suspiciously heavy," declared Flemming. "Yes, it's chock full of paraffin or petrol."
"Take it into the after-cabin," said Peter. "We'll solder it there. It will be a jolly sight safer away from the engine-room. Get the Tinol box out, Dick."
The first part of the operation was the boiling of the float. The hot water would not only cause the confined air to escape and indicate the position of the leak, it would also expel the petrol.
The task was proceeding most satisfactorily when theOlivettesuddenly began to roll in the swell of a distant steamer. Before the Sea Scouts could prevent it, the stove capsized, throwing the saucepan and its contents upon the floor. Instantly the petrol—fortunately only a few teaspoonfuls—burst into flames.
Flemming made a dash for the Pyrene extinguisher, but before he returned, Roche and the Patrol Leader had quenched the flames by smothering them with a blanket. But the worst was to come, for, when Peter picked up the still hot brass cylinder, the solder had melted and the float was irreparably damaged.
Without the float the motor couldn't function. There the Scouts were, almost in mid-Channel, in a boat that was now at the mercy of wind and tide.
"There's one blessing," remarked Roche. "We've got the fire out."
"At the expense of a jolly good blanket," added Flemming.
"Better a burnt blanket than a burnt boat," rejoined Roche. "What's to be done now?"
"Never say die," quoted Stratton. "Find a chunk of cork, someone. There's plenty on board. We'll make a cork float."
"No good without shellac," objected Roche. "It will go to pieces in the petrol."
"Let it, then," said Peter with a laugh. "The pieces can't come out of the old metal float. I'll pack it full of cork and tap over the ends. We'll have the old hooker making way in another twenty minutes."
The suggestion was quickly acted upon. By the aid of a light hammer Stratton succeeded in refixing the unsoldered end of the float, having previously filled it with cork. Although not so buoyant as an air-filled float, the substitute served its purpose, the only drawback being a rather heavy consumption of fuel; but directly the carburetter was replaced, the motor restarted without hesitation.
"Phew!" ejaculated Stratton, wiping his heated brow. "Do you know what the time is? A quarter past twelve. I'm turning in."
Before so doing, the Patrol Leader went on deck to have a look round. The night was dark, the sea calm. Almost dead ahead a white glare appeared above the horizon every five seconds. It was from the lighthouse of Cape de la Hogue.
Right astern a powerful beam seemed to travel across the sky, with the same speed and regularity as the light ahead. It was St. Catherine's, making a gesture of farewell from the shores of England, now nearly forty miles astern.
Aloft, theOlivette'stwo red lights had been replaced by her ordinary white masthead light; her port and starboard lamps were once more burning brightly. Inside the wheel-house, the faint glare from the binnacle shone upon Warkworth's solemn features as the lad kept the boat on her course.
Right in the eyes of the ship stood the motionless figure of Tom Boldrigg. No doubt his thoughts were going back to those far-off times when he performed a similar duty as look-out man upon one of His Majesty's ships, or perhaps he was thinking of the still-distant land where his soldier son slept his long rest.
Right aft, with his feet placed firmly apart and his hands clasped behind his back, stood the Scoutmaster. No doubt he, too, was thinking of how he stood thus under the shadow of the White Ensign, and was recalling vivid yet pleasant pictures of those strenuous days of the Great War.
Seeing Stratton appear on deck, Mr. Armitage walked towards him.
"All correct, sir," reported the Patrol Leader.
"That's good," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "When the motor gave out, I guessed you fellows would be equal to the task of getting it going again. And I was not mistaken."
Sunrise—a grey sky and a high dawn; long drab-coloured rollers driven on by the steady westerly wind; away to the south'ard a line of dark-grey cliffs, hardly distinguishable from the sombre hues of sea and sky. This was the first impression of the French coast upon the minds of the Sea Scouts of theOlivette.
Here and there the coastwise lights were vainly endeavouring to hold their own against the steadily increasing dawn. The powerful beams from the lighthouses of Cape de la Hogue and Cape Levi had already been extinguished, but from the Digue and the high ground above the town of Cherbourg there were still faint pinpricks of luminosity.
Away to the east'ard a couple of tramps were ploughing against the strong ebb, making apparently for Havre. Between theOlivetteand the shore were about twenty fishing-boats, their dark-tanned sails close-hauled to the breeze as they raced homewards with the fruits of their night's toil.
"We haven't made a bad passage, sir," remarked Stratton as he came on deck.
"We're not there yet, Peter," replied Mr. Armitage. "We've hit a pretty hot ebb tide, and it's sweeping us to the west'ard. I'm afraid we won't do much till the young flood sets in."
"How fast is the tide running, sir?" asked the Patrol Leader.
"A good six knots, I imagine," was the reply. "Six knots broad on our port beam, and we're doing about eight. We'll be in luck if we're inside the breakwater by six o'clock. It's now eight minutes to four."
"Hello, Mr. Boldrigg!" exclaimed Peter, as the old seaman stumped aft, swinging his arms. "You've had a long trick."
"Yes," agreed Tom. "A middlin' long trick; but it's only making up for lost time, so to speak."
"There's hot cocoa below," announced the Patrol Leader.
"He insisted upon being look-out man," remarked Mr. Armitage after Boldrigg had disappeared below. "I offered to send for'ard a relief, but he wouldn't let me. He's been up in the bows ever since ten o'clock. He's certainly earned his passage. Sleep well, Peter?"
"Toppingly, sir," replied the lad. It was his first night on board while the boat was under way, and in spite of the motion and the rumble and vibration of the propeller, he had slumbered soundly and well.
"Good!" rejoined the Scoutmaster. "Then I think I'll turn in for an hour or so. You'll find a chart of Cherbourg in the wheel-house. Provided you make due allowance for the set of the tide, there is nothing of a difficult nature to contend against. You can just distinguish the central breakwater—the Digue. The eastern entrance is the one for us."
Mr. Armitage went below, while Stratton entered the wheel-house and "took over" from Flemming.
The next hour passed slowly. Although the young helmsman kept theOlivettewell against the tide, her progress seemed painfully slow. It was not until the tide slackened and changed that the boat made any appreciable headway.
"Call Mr. Armitage," said Stratton as theOlivetterounded the Fort de l'Est—the easternmost point of the Digue—and the whole of the vast enclosed Cherbourg Harbour came into view.
The Scoutmaster was quickly on deck. "We're in, then?" he remarked. "Fine breakwater that. Have you any idea of what it cost?"
"No, sir," replied Peter.
"Roughly, £220 a linear foot," declared Mr. Armitage. "It took more than seventy years to build, and is 4060 yards in length, or two and a half times the length of Plymouth Breakwater. Now, Roche, slow down to five knots, and stand by the reversing-lever."
"Do we anchor, sir?" asked Peter.
"No," was the reply. "We'll go into the Avant Port and afterwards into the Bassin à Flot—that's a sort of dock with gates to prevent the water running out. Get the hands ready with the warps and fenders."
Very gently theOlivettebrought up alongside the weed-covered walls of the quay. As the tide had only just begun to rise, the masonry towered nearly thirty feet above her deck. Willing hands ashore helped to secure the little English craft, from the stern of which the Red Ensign drooped in the calm, sheltered basin.
Although it was yet early, the Sea Scouts had to receive a visitor. A short thick-set bearded Frenchman, with a sheaf of papers under his arm, ponderously descended the vertical ladder and scrambled upon theOlivette'sdeck.
"Your papairs, ef you please," he demanded. "From England, eh? you is capitaine, monsieur? Have you anyt'ing to declare?"
"Quelques boîtes d'allumettes, un peu de sel, pas de vin, pas de whisky, pas de tabac," replied Mr. Armitage.
Thedouanier'sface had grown graver and graver as the recital proceeded. This craft was different from those with which he usually had to deal. English yachts generally had spirits and beer on board, and as a result he had obtained a glass of whisky and a generouspourboire. This time he had struck a "dry" ship.
"I must ze search make," he declared.
"Certainly, Monsieur Jules," rejoined the Scoutmaster in French. "It will not be the first time you have explored my lockers."
The custom house official started and looked intently into Mr. Armitage's face. Then with an exclamation of surprise he flung his arms round the Scoutmaster's neck, and to the amusement of the crew, kissed him on both cheeks.
"Ma foi," he exclaimed, "c' est le capitaine de vaisseauArmitage. I am charmed to see you again, monsieur, but I failed to recognize you. No, the search is unnecessaire. I vill sign your papairstout de suite."
He went with the Scoutmaster into the after cabin.
"Queer bird that," remarked Hepburn. "Fancy one man kissing another."
"Custom of the country, I suppose," rejoined Roche. "Wonder how he knew Mr. Armitage?"
The question was answered after the douanier had taken his departure.
"I met Jules when I was in R.N.V.R.," explained Mr. Armitage. "Our M.L.'s frequently put into Cherbourg, and as we generally had plenty of provisions on board and people ashore here were on very short allowances, we were made most welcome. Now, lads, we have to wait until nine o'clock before the dock gates open, so suppose we pipe all hands to breakfast."
"Fine idea, sir," replied Hepburn, who was always a good trencherman.
"It is," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "So you can nip ashore, Alan, and get some bread. The bakers open early here. Take this money. I took the precaution of getting Jules to change some for me."
He handed Hepburn a roll of papers, which at first sight looked like a bundle of Treasury notes. Actually these were franc notes, each of the value of about fivepence or sixpence.
Thrusting the money into his pocket, Alan swarmed up the ladder against the quay. At the top he paused and looked down upon his chums.
"I'm the first of you fellows to set foot on French soil at all events," he remarked proudly.
Then making his way between a crowd of interested waterside loafers, Hepburn set off on his quest.
It did not take him long to find a baker's shop.
He kept his eyes open for the word "boulangerie", and his sense of smell on the alert for the appetizing odour of new bread.
Alan was rather proud of his French. He had gained two prizes at school for his knowledge of that language, but when he found himself confronted by a portly pleasant-faced woman he was literally tongue-tied.
"Let me see," he soliloquized desperately; "what was that wheeze old Patinot taught us: If you eat new bread you'll have an 'ache'. Yes, that's it; ache is the French for bread—Deux aches, s'il vous plaît, madame."
Madame looked decidedly puzzled and shook her head.
"Oh, dash it all!" ejaculated the Sea Scout. "It wasn't ache; it was pain—same thing, only different:Deux pains, s'il vous plaît."
This time Madame was pleased to understand, and Alan was the recipient of a couple of loaves of about four inches in diameter and nearly a yard in length.
Triumphantly Hepburn carried his purchases back to the quay, and threw them into the outstretched arms of Warkworth.
"Since you've made such a success of your expedition, Alan," said Mr. Armitage, "I wish you'd take these letters to the postoffice. Remember to put a five centimes stamp on each. By the time you return breakfast will be ready."
Alan took the envelopes, reascended the ladder, and crossed the pavé-covered quay. After wandering for some distance without finding the post-office, it occurred to him to inquire the way.
A magnificently uniformed gendarme was walking down the street. Alan went up to him and saluted Scout fashion, and the gendarme replied with an elaborate military salute.
"Au poste, monsieur!" exclaimed Hepburn, sure of his ground this time.
"Mais oui certainement," was the reply. "Par ici, monsieur."
The gendarme escorted Alan, and a steadily increasing crowd of idlers and children followed the pair. Hepburn felt rather elated. It was his Sea Scout's rig, he decided, that was such an attraction.
Throwing his shoulders back and holding his head high, he walked proudly by the side of his uniformed guide.
But he felt far from elated when the gendarme led him through a doorway into a low-ceilinged room where half a dozen armed men were standing. The door closed behind him, a gendarme planted his back against it, and half a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed upon the now astonished lad.
One thing was certain. Instead of being taken to the post-office, he had been shown into the police-station. It was an easy matter to enter, but would it be so easy to get out?