"I wonder what Mr. Murgatroyd intends doing with theOlivettewhen he gets her to Teddington," remarked Roche next morning, while the crew were awaiting the arrival of the owner. "She can't be run 'all out', and there's a good engine practically wasted."
"It puzzles me," added Stratton, "why he should be content to be on board as a mere passenger. He hasn't taken the wheel once. I know I jolly well would if I were in his place."
"Perhaps he's going to engage a permanent crew," suggested Hepburn.
"'Tany rate she's the wrong type of boat for this ditch," declared the Patrol-leader. "Wouldn't I like to try her in a sea-way! Give an eye to that bacon, Dick. We don't want it burnt to a cinder."
"How's the glass this morning, sir?" inquired Alan, as Mr. Armitage emerged from his cabin.
"Falling rapidly," replied the Scoutmaster, giving a glance aloft at the clouds scudding across the sky. "We're in for a short, sharp spell of dirty weather, I'm afraid. However, we must take the bad with the good, and keep smiling. Any sign of Mr. Murgatroyd yet?"
"He's just coming, sir," replied Flemming. "There he is, walking along the tow-path."
It was 5 a.m.—or four o'clock by Greenwich time. The sun had not yet risen, although it was quite light. An early morning start was desirable, and since Mr. Murgatroyd did not wish unduly to inconvenience the hotel staff, he arranged to have breakfast on board.
"Good morning, everyone!" he exclaimed. "Bless my soul! What a delicious breakfast. Who's the cook? My hunger will astonish you."
He sniffed the air appreciatively.
"Do you know that this is the first time for twenty years that I've seen the sun rise," he continued. "I feel like kicking myself for having wasted my opportunities. Now, then, let's see who's the best trencherman."
Directly breakfast was finished Warkworth was told off to wash up, while the rest of the crew set to work to get under way. Mr. Armitage, undaunted by the previous day's events, had sufficient faith in Alan Hepburn to place him at the wheel.
"You know what that awkward bend is like, Alan," he remarked. "That's half the battle. Carry on."
Hepburn felt decidedly "bucked". He realized that the stranding of theOlivettehad not gone against him in his Scoutmaster's opinion. He had been given an unqualified chance of again tackling what was admittedly a difficult bit of navigation, taking into consideration the length and general unhandiness of the boat when running under considerably reduced power.
That notwithstanding, Alan found himself approaching the scene of the grounding with a sense of suppressed excitement. He wasn't exactly nervous, but he vaguely wondered whether he would be able to do the trick this time.
Mr. Armitage noted with silent approval that the young helmsman was hugging the right bank. That gave him a better turning circle when the critical moment arrived to starboard helm.
This time the manoeuvre was successfully accomplished. Then followed an intricate bit of the river through and beyond Wargrave, where the stream is obstructed by numerous "aits", or islands.
Mile after mile was reeled off in grand style. By this time the locks were no longer novelties to the Sea Scouts—they became monotonous. Marlow, with its huge weir, interested them, but they voted the river between Bourne End and Maidenhead the best from a picturesque point of view.
As they approached Boulter's Lock it began to rain in torrents, so oilskins and sou'westers were donned. The downpour proved a blessing in disguise, because theOlivettewas spared the intricate business of entering a lock crowded with frail pleasure-boats. As it happened, the most famous lock on the Thames was almost deserted.
Windsor Castle, viewed in the sunlight as the clouds temporarily cleared, enthralled the Sea Scouts. They realized that in that noble pile was embodied the history of nearly a thousand years.
"I wish we had time to go over the Castle," remarked Roche wistfully.
"So do I," agreed Mr. Armitage. "But this is a business proposition, Roche; we've contracted to undertake two tasks in a given time,and it's up to usto carry them out."
Magna Carta Island, looking much like the rest of the Thames islands, was passed soon afterwards—a flat, uninteresting strip of ground famous for the fact that the greatest deed that gave the English people their liberty was enacted here, when the barons forced King John to sign the all-important charter.
The afternoon found theOlivetteoff Hampton Court. Her voyage was approaching the end. There were evidences that she was nearing the great Metropolis.
"We'll do it easily this time," said Mr. Armitage, addressing the owner.
"Yes," replied Mr. Murgatroyd dubiously. "I can't say that I'm at all pleased with the river. From a scenic point of view it's all right; but what's the use of a big boat like this? I can't run her at any speed."
He paused to watch a long, lean motor-launch glide past, overtaking theOlivettewith the greatest ease, yet leaving hardly any wash in her wake.
"That's the sort of thing," he continued.
"For the Thames above London," agreed the Scoutmaster. "I wouldn't care to take her down to the Nore, but this boat would go anywhere."
"I wonder if I would be a good sailor," remarked Mr. Murgatroyd.
"You'll be able to find that out later, if you wish," said Mr. Armitage. "With a competent engineer and coxswain, you ought to get heaps of pleasure out of her on the East Coast."
"Good idea that," agreed the owner. "East Coast—bracing air, open sea, go as fast as you can. That's sensible. No ditch-crawling with two cylinders cut out and the throttle almost closed. I remember spending a pleasant holiday years ago at a little place called Brightlingsea. Know it?"
"I've heard of it," admitted Mr. Armitage. "Although during the war I was stationed some time at Harwich, I never put into the Colne, which is only about thirty miles distant."
"Will you take theOlivetteto Brightlingsea for me?" asked Mr. Murgatroyd bluntly. "I'll willingly pay another ten pounds."
The Scoutmaster hesitated a few moments. He had to think things out. It would give the lads an opportunity of open sea work in a boat that they were by this time fairly well acquainted with. In addition, Brightlingsea was well on the way to Great Yarmouth.
"We'll manage it," he replied. "If there are no delays, unavoidable or otherwise; it will fit in with our present arrangements."
"What are you doing this sort of thing for?" asked Mr. Murgatroyd with his natural bluntness. Needless to say, he hailed from 'twixt Tees and Trent. "Making a living out of it?"
Mr. Armitage smiled.
"Hardly," he replied. "Otherwise I might soon find myself in the 'cart'. No, it's a scheme to help my Sea Scouts to purchase a weatherly sort of boat, one on which they can sleep under cover. Since by the Scout Regulations they are not allowed to receive monetary rewards for doing nothing—in other words, cadging—they must earn their salt honestly."
"Good scheme," agreed Mr. Murgatroyd. "Take it from me, a self-made old buffer, that money easily acquired is not appreciated to anything like the extent as if you'd had to work jolly hard for it. Right-o! we're for Brightlingsea, then. Anything you require for the voyage?"
"More fuel," replied the Scoutmaster. "If we refill the paraffin-tank, it ought to take us there. Provisions, I think, are sufficient. I'll have to go ashore near London Bridge and buy a chart of the mouth of the Thames. Mine is from the Nore eastwards."
It was early in the afternoon when theOlivettepassed through the great lock at Teddington, and entered the tidal waters of the Thames. It was now just after high water, and the mud-banks on the northern shore were covered.
"Can't we increase speed, sir?" asked Stratton, noticing several fussy, high-powered steam-tugs making quite a swell.
"Connect up all four cylinders, and see how she takes it," assented the Scoutmaster. "Don't give her full throttle. Many a good motor has been spoiled by opening out before the bearings have been properly run in."
TheOlivetteincreased speed. Although there was a fair amount of vibration, it was not so marked as when the motor was running on two cylinders. It was possible to leave a plate on the cabin table and not find it making steady progress from one end to the other, a tendency that had already been responsible for several casualties amongst the crockery-ware.
"Now she feels it!" exclaimed Hepburn, as theOlivetteencountered the "wash" of a tug, lifting her bows and plunging into the trough, at the same time flinging a shower of spray far on either side. "Almost like being at sea once more."
Mr. Armitage thought so too. He was once more in his element. The narrow, tideless waters of the Thames, with their crowds of pleasure-craft, manned for the most part by inexperienced amateurs, were left astern. Ahead was a commercial waterway frequented by men whose business was upon the sea, and who knew the "Rule of the Road" by heart. The Scoutmaster could take theOlivettethrough the maze of shipping with confidence—confidence in himself and confidence in those in command of the craft he met, since "they knew their job". Failure to know it on the part of one would almost certainly result in an accident, possibly disaster; but a cool head and a steady hand at the wheel were sure and certain passports to safety.
The Sea Scouts were most enthusiastic over the change of plans. With the budding instinct of seamanship they welcomed the idea of taking theOlivetteout to sea. There lurked a spice of danger, a possibility of being able to achieve something.
"Now," said Mr. Armitage, as the boat passed over the half-tide barrage at Richmond, "we are not ditch-crawling: it's sea routine. Stratton, you take the starboard watch, with Warkworth as deck hand. Roche will be engineer of that watch. The others, under Hepburn, will be in the port watch, with Woodleigh for deck duties. One is quite enough for the engine-room, except when starting up. Starboard will take on at the first Dog Watch. That will start the routine well."
As far as London Bridge progress was rapid, except when it became necessary to avoid lumbering lighters "shooting the bridges" with the now strong ebb-tide. Here theOlivettebrought up alongside a wharf and refilled tanks, while the Scoutmaster hied him to Potter's to purchase the necessary chart.
"Will Gravesend suit for to-night?" asked Mr. Armitage on his return.
"Anywhere," replied Mr. Murgatroyd. "If necessary, I'll sleep on board. In fact, I'd rather like it."
It meant turning Stratton out of his bunk, but the owner didn't know that. On the other hand, should it become necessary for theOlivetteto weigh she could do so without having to wait for Mr. Murgatroyd.
"I have a couple of rugs in my portmanteau," he continued. "It isn't the first time I've slept 'rough'."
"But we don't sleep 'rough' on board, sir," expostulated Roche. "It's as comfortable as anything, even in the lockers in the cockpit."
"Lamps all trimmed, I hope, Peter?" asked the Scoutmaster. "We don't want to be under way after dark if it can be avoided, but we must be prepared if the contingency arises."
Throughout the trip down the Lower Thames—or London River, as it is termed in the sea-faring world—Mr. Armitage remained in the wheel-house, ready to give directions to the helmsman should occasion occur. But, following his usual plan, he allowed the lad at the wheel to exercise his own discretion—a plan that worked admirably. It gave the coxswain confidence, but at the same time he realized that if he did get in a tight corner the Scoutmaster was there, ready to help him out of the difficulty. "We'll carry our tide right to Gravesend, I think," remarked Mr. Armitage, as he shut up the tide-table book. "The flood makes at 6.30."
"Does it matter with a motor?" asked Roche.
"Yes, but not to the same extent as if we were dependent on sail-power. We're doing nine knots now, with a three-knot ebb under us. That means we are doing twelve knots past the land. With the tide against us we would be doing only six. In that case——"
"There's a barge hailing us, sir," reported Warkworth, who was "look-out" on duty. "Wants a tow, I think."
Mr. Armitage went on deck. Eighty or a hundred yards away was a large sprit-rigged Thames barge, light in ballast. She was dropping down with the tide. Her large expanse of tanned canvas was hardly drawing, for the breeze, which had held strongly during the greater part of the day, had "petered out ".
"Tug, ahoy!" hailed the skipper of the barge, a short, rotund man, clad in a blue jersey, tanned trousers and sea-boots, and wearing a billy-cock hat. "Can you give us a pluck as far as Gravesen'?"
Mr. Armitage glanced at Mr. Murgatroyd.
"Go on," said the latter. "It'll be a bit of fun. Let's see what theOlivettecan do with a craft like that."
"It will mean increased fuel-consumption," cautioned the Scoutmaster, "and perhaps finishing up against the tide in the dark. We're not off Woolwich yet."
"It's my paraffin you're burning," remarked the owner with a chuckle. "If I don't mind, you needn't. And a run in the dark won't hurt us. It isn't a case of 'I'm afraid to go home in the dark', is it?"
By this time theOlivette, although her engine was stopped, had overlapped the barge. The skipper of the latter, evidently fearing that his request would be "turned down ", brought his hands trumpet-wise to his mouth and bellowed:
"I'll give you ten pun' for a tow."
"Take on the job, Armitage," said his employer.
The Scoutmaster raised one arm in a gesture of assent, and immediately the crew of the barge—two men and a boy—prepared to run out a warp.
"All out!" ordered Mr. Armitage, when the barge had gathered way in the wake of the powerful little motor-craft.
"I don't know whether we are transgressing and breaking regulations by towing for hire," observed the Scoutmaster.
"We were asked," replied: Mr. Murgatroyd. "The skipper is evidently in a hurry, or else he wouldn't have offered ten pounds."
"You've earned something by keeping on," said Mr. Armitage.
"Not I," protested the owner. "I'm only a sort of passenger."
"As owner you are entitled to a part at least of the towage," persisted Mr. Armitage.
"I'm not taking it," declared Mr. Murgatroyd vehemently. "When I'm hard up I'll use theOlivettefor profits—not before. The money's yours, Armitage; yours and the lads'. It'll help towards buying a vessel of your own."
Naturally the Sea Scouts were surprised and delighted when Mr. Armitage told them of the owner's generosity.
"We've been wondering why the skipper of the barge was so anxious to get a tow and pay for it. He might have had it for the asking," remarked Flemming.
"We're not assisting other criminals on their weary way, I hope," added Hepburn. It was soon evident that, although the barge was "light", she was a heavy barge to tow, and it became a question whether theOlivettewould save her tide down to Gravesend.
The barge brought up off her destination just in time. The young flood was making over the malodorous mud-flats.
True to his compact, the skipper of the barge put off in his dinghy and, coming alongside theOlivette, handed over ten very greasy "Bradburys" with as much unconcern as if they had been pennies.
"You've done me a very good turn, guv'ner," he remarked. "Gives me a chance to ship cargo early to-morrow morning, an' ketch the flood up the river."
"Where can we bring up for the night?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"'Longside o' we," replied the skipper promptly. "No need to worrit yourselves about no ridin' light, an' 'tis easy to get under way come mornin'. You've tidy fenders, an' you won't come to no 'arm."
The offer was accepted. It cut both ways. It enabled theOlivette'screw to dispense with the task of anchoring, while, with the Scouts alongside, the skipper and the men of the barge could go ashore without risk of finding their boat plundered by waterside thieves.
The barge skipper was well satisfied. At an outlay of ten pounds for towage, he had made to the extent of fifty or sixty pounds in times when freightage was higher than it had ever been before.
It was with a certain amount of difficulty that the Scoutmaster made the "watch below" turn in. The lads were reluctant to leave the deck. It was a calm, peaceful evening, despite a falling glass, and the prospect of the chief maritime highway of the world's commerce fascinated them. A huge liner, one blaze of lights, was creeping up to an anchorage off Tilbury; tramps, coasters, barges, and tugs were constantly passing to and fro, their navigation-lights forming a galaxy of red, green, and white.
"You fellows will be fat-headed when it's your turn for duty," remarked the Scoutmaster. "As a matter of fact, you may all turn in. We won't require an anchor watch."
The Sea Scouts obeyed, but Mr. Armitage had no intention of following their example He went to his cabin and carefully perused the chart, at the same time noting the still-falling barometer.
"If the wind comes from the sou'-west or south'ard, we'll do all right here," he soliloquized. "If it's east or north, then it's a case of look out."
Mr. Murgatroyd, tired out with his long day, had gone to his bunk in the after-cabin, but there were signs that he was far from comfortable. Possibly he was hankering after a snug bed ashore and a floor that didn't rock, although ever so gently.
About midnight the Scoutmaster went on deck. It was now nearly high tide, and a distinct "popple" of tide was in evidence. Overhead the starlit sky was beginning to become overcast—long, ragged clouds throwing out tapering fingers that pointed to a blow from the nor'ard.
Even as he studied the meteoric conditions, Mr. Armitage heard a weird moan. It was the herald of a stiff breeze, possibly half a gale.
Then with a terrific gust the storm burst. It was one of those sudden, fierce tempests that are apt to occur during the summer months—short in duration, but none the less dangerous.
In five minutes the sea was quite tumultuous, although the distance from shore to shore was short of a mile. TheOlivettewas soon grinding and bumping against the barge in a manner that suggested damage if she remained much longer.
The series of violent concussions brought the Sea Scouts from their bunks. They were prepared to be rocked in the cradle of the deep, but not to be jolted and rattled like peas in a pod. Mr. Murgatroyd alone remained; he was in such a state of mind and body that he hardly cared what happened if only he could set foot on dry land.
"We're dragging, sir," declared Stratton.
It was the unpleasant truth. Either the barge's single anchor had tripped, or else the crew had neglected to pay out sufficient cable. Slowly yet surely the barge, with theOlivettebumping alongside, was drifting down upon the wharves of Gravesend. To make matters worse, the worthy skipper and crew of the barge had not yet returned from the shore.
"We'll have to cut and run for it," declared Mr. Armitage. "Otherwise we stand a good chance of being smashed between the barge and a stone wall. She may ride to her anchor all right without us. Start the engine, Roche, as sharp as you can. Stratton, trim and light the navigation-lamps and set them in position. You others stand by to cast off, but mind you aren't thrown into the ditch."
Fortunately the motor was still warm, and starting up was quickly accomplished. It was, however, a difficult, not to say dangerous, task to cast off from the barge, since it was theOlivette'srope that secured her.
"I'll do it, sir," volunteered the Patrol-leader. "If you went, and anything happened so that you couldn't get back from the barge, where would we be?"
Mr. Armitage saw the force of the argument.
"Right-o!" he assented. "Be very careful."
Stratton meant to be. He knew the risk of slipping and falling between the two vessels. But he was a level-headed youngster, who knew how to use his hands and his feet as well as the "grey matter under his thatch ".
Watching his opportunity, he gained the deck of the barge, passed the bight of a rope round a bollard, and threw the ends back on to theOlivette.
"All fast!" shouted Hepburn.
With that assurance the Patrol-leader cast off the original rope. TheOlivettewas now held by a warp that could be slipped from her deck and the stern-post as well.
Peter did not employ the same method with the after-warp. He merely cast it off, and, before the two boats had a chance to drift apart, he regained theOlivette'sdeck.
"All gone aft, sir!" he reported.
"Then let go for'ard," ordered the Scoutmaster.
Roche, at the clutch lever of the engine, heard the command, and wondered why the Scoutmaster did not give the order to go ahead or astern. But Mr. Armitage realized the danger of starting under power from the lee of the labouring barge. He was content to let theOlivettedrop clear under the action of wind and tide.
"Easy ahead!" he ordered. "Stratton, pass the word for all hands to go below. We want a clear deck for this job."
The Patrol-leader saw all the rest of the deck hands into the cockpit, and then returned to the wheel-house. Mr. Armitage had thrown open the plate-glass windows, and was preparing grimly to enjoy himself.
"Get your oilskins," he ordered curtly. "We'll ship some seas, I'm thinking, and I can't see when the spray obscures the glass."
The Scoutmaster was perturbed. Not that he minded for himself. He was racking his brains as to the best course to pursue, whether to make for the Essex side, which was a weather shore, or continue down the river under the lee of the land. The first alternative involved anchoring, and he did not like the thought of immature lads handling a 60-pound anchor in the dark on the slippery deck. The second had an objection on the score that he was unacquainted with the river and that the traffic was heavy.
"I'll carry on down," he decided. "It's high water, and if I fringe the mud-banks I'll be out of the worst of the traffic. If she grounds, it's soft mud and a weather shore."
Having made this resolve, the Scoutmaster stuck to it. It was an anxious ten minutes crossing the fairway. There was a nasty cross sea running, in addition to the fact that several large vessels were in the vicinity. There were sailing craft, too, plunging along under reefed canvas, and at sea all vessels under power have to give way for those under sail.
Showers of spray tumbled inboard, flying through the open windows of the wheel-house and hissing on the hot cylinders. In addition to the reek of warm oil the wheel-house and engine-room were filled with steam. Bilge-water, thrown up by the fly-wheel as theOlivettepitched, added to the discomforts of those below.
But Mr. Armitage was blind to his immediate surroundings. His whole attention was centred upon the maze of lights. He had to determine quickly and accurately which were leading lights and which belonged to vessels under way. An error might result in a collision.
In spite of the discomforts the Sea Scouts were rather enjoying the situation. Confident in the ability of their Scoutmaster, they hadn't the slightest idea of the stress that Mr. Armitage was undergoing on their behalf. The night, too, hid much of the peril that beset them. Even the helmsman was ignorant of the fact that once theOlivetteliterally scraped past a huge mooring-buoy, massive enough to crush her well-built planks like an egg-shell.
At length the boat gained the comparatively quiet water of the Essex shore. Here, gauging his distance, Mr. Armitage ported helm.
Then theOlivettebegan to show her weak point. She was undoubtedly "tender", rolling like a barrel. The Scoutmaster, standing with his feet planted widely apart, gave a rapid glance behind him to reassure himself that his youthful crew were all right. They were hanging on to the first secure object that they found, wondering, doubtless, what had suddenly possessed theOlivetteto behave thus; while Roche, swallowing mouthfuls of salt-laden steam, was manfully standing by the reversing-lever.
With her engine running at half speed theOlivetteheld on, staggering and lurching as the heavy wind struck her full on the broadside, until, with a grunt of satisfaction, Mr. Armitage sighted the Chapman, and, beyond, the lights of Southend.
He was approaching familiar waters now, although during the latter stages of the war the pile-beacon of the Chapman had not displayed its nocturnal warning. Beyond was the Nore, known to every officer and man who had served in the patrols operating from Sheerness and Harwich.
Grey dawn found theOlivetteabreast of the far-flung Southend pier. It was now nearly low tide. The extensive flats of the Essex shore, jutting a good two miles from the low-lying Shoeburyness, were rapidly uncovering. The wind had backed four or six points and was now nor'-east.
"No use running for the Medway," declared the Scoutmaster. "Nothing like carrying on, so here goes."
Heedless of the fact that he had had an abnormally long trick at the helm, Mr. Armitage had decided upon the best plan. To hold on, keeping under the lee of the sands, meant the best chance of arriving at Brightlingsea before the wind veered. To hesitate and run for some unknown creek meant not only the risk of getting aground but possibly being weatherbound for days.
"It'll be a race with the wind," thought the Scoutmaster:
"'When the wind shifts against the sun,Trust it not, for back it 'll run'.
"Now, then, it's an even chance: Brightlingsea or a lee shore off the Maplins. I wonder if I've done the right thing?"
With the backing of the wind theOlivettenow found herself in comparatively calm water. No longer did she ship solid seas over her bows. Spray, caught from the short, steep crests of the waves by the howling wind, swept over her in a continuous shower.
Viewed in the pale dawn, the sea looked a mass of white foam, studded here and there by bobbing black or red conical buoys, while farther away to starboard could be discerned two heavily-pitching lightships—the Nore and the Mouse.
"Take her for a few minutes, Alan," said Mr. Armitage. "Keep those conical buoys on your port hand—a cable's distance off will do."
He went aft to find most of the crew feeling "merry and bright" in the cockpit.
"Quite all right, sir," replied Flemming, in answer to his inquiry. "Isn't it fine? Have a cup of tea, sir?"
The Scoutmaster accepted the beverage gratefully. He was feeling pretty well done up by his long trick at the wheel. His hands, exposed to the spindrift for five consecutive hours, were white and clammy, while his eyes were salt-rimmed by the stinging spray.
"How's Mr. Murgatroyd?" he inquired.
Flemming grinned.
"Getting better, I think," he replied. "Judging by the way he drank his tea, he's able to sit up and take nourishment."
The Scoutmaster, not without difficulty, owing to the motion of the boat, gained the after-cabin. It was in a state of disorder. Both his and the owner's belongings had been violently thrown on the floor, which was ankle deep in water. The distressed occupant had omitted to close the scuttle over Mr. Armitage's bunk, and that had caused a steady inflow of spray.
Mr. Murgatroyd, lying on his cot, smiled wanly at the Scoutmaster.
"I'm a rotten sailor, Armitage," he remarked. "But I'll stick it. Feeling better now; but what a night! Why did you leave Gravesend?"
Mr. Armitage explained.
"And all being well, another three hours will find us at Brightlingsea," he added.
"Time for me to find my sea-legs," rejoined the undaunted owner. "I'll be on deck as soon as possible."
The Scoutmaster agreed that it was the best course to pursue. Remaining below in the stuffy cabin, where everything was vibrating with the revolutions of the propeller-shaft, was not conducive to comfort. He could not help admiring the pluck of a man well beyond middle age, who had determined to overcome that dreaded enemy sea-sickness. Mr. Armitage knew from experience what it meant. He, too, had been through the mill.
Regaining the cockpit, the Scoutmaster was more and more aware of the effect of the mental and physical strain he had undergone. For the present practically all danger was past: it behoved him to conserve his energies.
"Quite fit, Woodleigh?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Had any sleep?"
"Yes, sir."
"Had breakfast?"
"Rather, sir," replied the Sea Scout, wondering why the Scoutmaster should take such a personal interest in his welfare.
"Right-o!" continued Mr. Armitage. "Take an hour's trick at the wheel. I'll give you the course. Hepburn will relieve you. Now, carry on."
Having carefully pointed out the course, and knowing that Woodleigh should have no difficulty in taking theOlivettepast the Mouse and through the West Swin as far as the Maplin Beacon, Mr. Armitage turned in on the leeward locker in the engine-room and was soon fast asleep.
He had confidence in his boys. Much of their instruction at home consisted of chartwork. He had always insisted that for coastal navigation the ability to read and understand a chart was of paramount importance; more so, in fact, than a knowledge of the compass, except, of course, in foggy weather.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: RAISING HIS VOICE HE SHOUTED, "LET GO!"]
[Illustration: RAISING HIS VOICE HE SHOUTED, "LET GO!"]
Now he was putting his faith to the acid test. Woodleigh was in sole control of the helm. If he failed to carry out his instructions or misinterpreted the reading of the chart, then goodness only knows what might happen.
Woodleigh was in his element. It seemed to him that he had reached the zenith of his ambition to be in charge as navigator of a large motor-boat in the North Sea. True, he was not out of sight of land, and the North Sea as pictured by present conditions, with a maze of sand-banks, buoys, and sea-marks, and a few lightships and pile-beacons thrown in, hardly coincided with what he imagined it to be.
The Scoutmaster was sleeping soundly; Peter Stratton was dosing fitfully on one of the lockers in the cockpit; Roche, as engineer on duty, was "standing by"; the other Sea Scouts were preparing breakfast; and Mr. Murgatroyd, gamely determined to recover his sea-legs, was hanging on to the coaming of the cockpit and watching the low-lying coast-line.
Before long Woodleigh discovered that making a passage by the aid of a chart was a comparatively simple matter.... It was merely a question of going from one buoy to another and noting the name on each one as he passed it. Even the Maplin, standing like one of Wells's Martians on its spider-like legs, the lad greeted as an old friend.
Up through the South-West Reach, across the shoals into the East Swin, theOlivettemade her way.
"The Whitaker Beacon on the port hand," soliloquized the youthful helmsman. "Good enough; that must be the Swin Spitway buoy I can see ahead."
His surmise was correct. He starboarded helm on passing the latter buoy and stood on through the Wallet. The breaking seas on the Buxey and the tail of the Gunfleet looked formidable, and Woodleigh, for the first time doubting the advisability of "carrying on" farther than Mr. Armitage had stipulated, was on the point of getting one of his companions to rouse the Scoutmaster.
"Must be all right," he decided, giving another glance at the chart. It was about the twentieth time he had done so in the last two hours, and the chart, saturated with spray, was to him no longer a mass of complicated figures, but something more tangible. It was something on which he depended in order to bring theOlivettethrough the intricate channels between the shoals.
The new course, approximately N.N.W., was now dead in the eye of the wind, and Woodleigh began to experience some of the discomforts his Scoutmaster had endured during the night. Now it was broad daylight, and the white-crested masses of water bearing down upon the boat looked very threatening.
Waves thudded against her bows, throwing cascades of foam not only against, but completely over, the wheel-house. Now and again, as the boat's stern was lifted clear of the water, the propeller would race violently, causing the engineer many anxious moments, until, with a peculiar sensation, the motor would slow down as the blades of the screw met with increased resistance.
Mr. Armitage was still sleeping soundly. Even the racket in the Wallet failed to rouse him; but Stratton, shaking off his lethargy, climbed into the wheel-house and stood behind the helmsman.
"Where are we now, Woodleigh?" he asked.
"Nearly there—at Brightlingsea," replied the Sea Scout proudly; "there are the beacons on Colne Point."
"Hadn't we better wake Mr. Armitage?" suggested the Patrol-leader.
"No, don't," said Woodleigh earnestly. "He's dead beat. There's no difficulty in getting in, andit will be a surprisefor him to find out where we are. Think you'll be able to manage that anchor?"
Peter thought that, with assistance, he could.
"I'll wait till we're in," he decided. "Not much fun stocking an anchor with the boat jumping about like this. I say, bit of crowd, isn't it?"
He pointed ahead, where the estuary of the Colne was black with the hulls of fishing-smacks that had run in on the approach of bad weather.
"Wind's veering," added Woodleigh. "Look where it is now—almost dead astern. Guess we've done it just in time."
Within the last ten minutes the wind had shifted from N.N.W. to S.E., and in consequence Mersea Flats, on the port hand to the entrance of the river, were a lee shore. Above the noise of the engine the two Scouts could hear the roar of the breakers upon the hard sand, for it was now just on low water.
With a sense of elation that he had dared and won through, Woodleigh gave the wheel half a turn. He was making for port, running the gauntlet of the bar, and confidence in the boat and in himself was half the battle.
"We're across the bar, Peter!" he exclaimed joyously, when theOlivetteentered the sheltered waters of the Colne. "Now then, old son; turn out your merry wreckers and get the anchor cleared away. Warn Roche as you go; but don't disturb Mr. Armitage if you can help it."
The clearing away of the heavy anchor, and the securing of the forelock, was not accomplished in a moment, and, by the time all was in readiness for letting go, Woodleigh had "opened out" the little town of Brightlingsea, standing on the northern bank of the creek that derives its name from the busy yachting and fishing centre.
"Stop!" ordered Woodleigh, addressing the now alert Roche; then, raising his voice, he shouted: "Let go!"
The roar of the cable through the fair-leads announced that the voyage of theOlivette, as far as the Milford Sea Scouts were concerned, was an accomplished fact. It also had the effect of rousing the Scoutmaster from his slumbers.
The crew, having been "given the tip", watched the expression on Mr. Armitage's face with ill-concealed amusement.
"What have you anchored for?" he asked. "Where are we?"
"There, sir," replied Woodleigh triumphantly. "We're off Brightlingsea."
For some moments Mr. Armitage hardly knew what to say. When his first feelings of astonishment subsided, he felt inclined to reprimand Woodleigh for disobeying orders. Had the lad made a blunder the consequences might have been serious—but he hadn't.
"After all," thought the Scoutmaster, "he did very well. Sort of Nelson touch about that lad. If he acted with deliberate judgment, and not through a sheer slice of luck, he's cut out for navigating duties. 'Tany rate, I've had a good sound sleep, but I wouldn't have slumbered so quietly had I known."
He went on deck. TheOlivettewas riding to a single anchor in a land-locked estuary, within a cable's length of Brightlingsea Hard. He could hardly realize the fact.
"We thought we'd wait till the ebb makes before we run out a kedge, sir," reported the Patrol-leader; "then she'll ride to her main anchor and cable."
"Quite right," agreed Mr. Armitage. "What's the time? Eight o'clock. Any breakfast going?"
There was. From the galley came the first appetizing smell of grilling bacon. Warkworth, who revelled in the work in the galley, was preparing a substantial meal, supplemented by coffee.
On his way aft Mr. Armitage touched Woodleigh on the shoulder.
"I've taught you as much as I know myself at this game, Woodleigh," he declared. "You don't happen to be acquainted with this part, I suppose?"
"No, sir," replied the youngster. "It's those imaginary cruises we used to work out on the chart that helped me."
"You ought to have turned me out when you sighted the Maplin," continued the Scoutmaster.
"Yes," agreed Woodleigh; "but you were sleeping soundly, sir. I didn't like to disturb you."
Sitting on one of the lockers of the well was Mr. Murgatroyd, looking rather tired; but he had lost the greyish hue that accompanies the horrible sensation of sea-sickness.
"We've arrived, Mr. Murgatroyd," remarked the Scoutmaster cheerfully. "Sooner than we expected, you see."
"And a jolly little spot it is!" declared the owner. "Who's ready for breakfast? I'm as hungry as a hunter."
It was a jovial party that gathered round the long, folding table. In spite of the strenuous passage and the lack of an uninterrupted night's rest, the Sea Scouts were in high spirits. They realized that theOlivettehad fought a battle with the elements, and that she had emerged triumphantly out of the ordeal.
"You'll be all right here with a crew who know this part of the coast," observed Mr. Armitage.
"Rather!" agreed Mr. Murgatroyd. "I wish, though, that some of you lads could remain, but I know that's out of the question. What are your plans?"
"We'll pack up and leave you as soon as possible," replied the Scoutmaster. "We'll catch the first train to Colchester, and then on to Yarmouth, get aboard theRosaliefairly early, and then we'll make up arrears of sleep."
"Why not remain here until to-morrow?" asked the owner of theOlivette.
"We'd have our rest at the wrong end, so to speak, if we did," explained Mr. Armitage. "If we're at our port of departure, we can get under way directly the weather moderates, which we couldn't do if theRosaliewere at Yarmouth and we at Brightlingsea."
Breakfast over, the Sea Scouts prepared to evacuate their temporary floating home. They were sorry to leave theOlivette, but regrets were tempered by the knowledge that a bigger undertaking was awaiting them.
Before they went ashore theOlivettewas cleaned down and tidied up, her decks scrubbed, ropes coiled neatly down, and a kedge run out.
Mr. Murgatroyd shook hands with every member of the crew, thanking them for the real good time.
"I'll try to follow your example," he said, "and make some sort of a sailor-man. It's never too late to learn, as I expect I've said before."
"Decent old chap," remarked Peter Stratton, when the Sea Scouts embarked in a ferry-boat and were taken ashore. "Wonder if the owner of theRosalieis anything like him?"
"We won't know until we hand the yacht over," replied the Scoutmaster. "He's not coming with us. That reminds me, I must send a wire to our friend the Oxford Scoutmaster."
"Mr. Jackson?" asked Roche.
"Yes," was the reply. "You fellows are doing so well, that I feel out of it; so, needing someone to keep me company, I invited Mr. Jackson for the voyage from Yarmouth to Poole. He and I will have a rare, good, lazy time, sitting on deck and watching you do the donkey-work."
"I can see you doing that, sir," rejoined Hepburn, laughing. "Wonder what theRosalieis like?"
"Possess your soul in patience for another six hours, Alan, and your curiosity will, I hope, be satisfied," replied Mr. Armitage.
"Now," he added briskly, as the boat ran alongside the Hard, "Flemming and Woodleigh, you had better be baggage-guard until we can find some sort of conveyance to get the gear to the station. I'll go to the post office. Anyone else coming?"
Everyone wanted to send off letters to relatives.
"Hang on a minute, Peter," said Flemming. "I want to scribble a line. You might post it for me."
"I know a better plan," replied the Patrol-leader. "I'll buy picture post cards for Woodleigh and you, and you can post them on the way to the railway station."
About three o'clock in the afternoon the Sea Scouts arrived at Great Yarmouth. Mr. Armitage was now on familiar ground, and theRosaliewas quickly located lying alongside a wharf above the swing-bridge.
At first sight she was not prepossessing.
She was a straight-stemmed craft with a short counter, schooner-rigged, her masts being set in "tabernacles", or vertical troughs of wood, to enable them to be lowered in the event of her having to pass under an immovable bridge. She had been grievously neglected. Her hull was painted "battleship grey", or rather the paint had been "slapped on" over her original coat of white. Her teak topsides and coamings were weather-worn and black with the combined action of salt water, rain, and sun. Her masts were painted the same hideous colour as the hull, and someone in a sudden fit of zeal had commenced scraping one and left the wood partly bare. The decks were black with dirt and coal-dust, and generally she bore an air of utter disrespectability.
"The old boat's been in Government service," explained the man in whose charge she had been left. "Nice li'l ole boat she be, but she's a regular beast in a seaway. Rolls like a barrel, she do. Here's the key, sir."
'Tween decks things were more hopeful. Although there was dirt and dust everywhere, everything was fairly dry.
Right aft, and gained by a companion-ladder from a very small cockpit, was the main cabin, fitted throughout in teak, and possessing four sofa berths. In the centre was a large table, while there was more than 6 feet 6 inches headroom under the deck-beams. Through the for'ard bulkhead of the saloon were two doorways, one leading to a small, compact, and well-fitted galley, the other to a single-berthed sleeping-cabin.
For'ard of these a solid bulkhead ran athwartships, completely cutting off the engine-room from the owner's quarters.
The engine-room was gained by means of an almost vertical ladder. In it were two twin motors of 30 horse-power, controlled, when running, from a "sunk" wheel-house. Opening out of the engine-room was a spacious forepeak, with folding-cot accommodation for six persons.
"We've got our work cut out to get shipshape before night," declared Mr. Armitage briskly. "All hands to it, and we'll soon break the back of the job."
The Sea Scouts were told off to their respective tasks. Stratton and Hepburn tackled the work of scrubbing decks, airing sails, and overhauling the running-gear. Roche and Flemming took on the motor-room, running the engines, testing the controls, and seeing "how things worked", in addition to gauging the contents of the petrol and oil tanks, and "checking" the engineers' stores.
Woodleigh and Warkworth cleaned out the forepeak and the galley, while the Scoutmaster toiled like a Trojan in the main cabin.
By six o'clock in the evening theRosaliewas transformed into a clean and tidy craft, the Sea Scouts' gear was packed away below, and the galley fires were burning brightly. Half an hour later all hands sat down to a plentiful meal in the saloon Then, dead tired with their exertions, they turned in and slept until nearly eight the next morning.
"No chance of a start to-day," declared Mr. Armitage. "The glass has risen far too quickly. It means a repetition of the blow, but possibly from another quarter."
"Would it be too rough outside, sir?" asked Hepburn. "The caretaker told me that theRosaliewas out in all weathers during the war, winter and summer."
"It may not be too rough for the yacht," replied Mr. Armitage, "but it may be too rough for us. Remember it's the human element that counts. We don't know theRosalie. She, no doubt, has her peculiarities, which her former crew understood. We don't. We have to find them out. See what I mean?"
"I suppose, sir," said Flemming, "that in your opinion we aren't equal to the task."
"Not at all," declared the Scoutmaster. "Otherwise I wouldn't have undertaken the contract. You are healthy, well-developed lads, but you aren't equal to full-grown experienced men. Therefore I have to be careful not to run unnecessary risks. We'll set canvas and see what the gear's like. That requires practice, I can assure you."
"In case we have to stow sails in a hurry," added Stratton.
"Precisely," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Nothing afloat looks so bad as a raw crew struggling ineffectually at stowing canvas. You should know exactly what's what, which rope is which, so that you could find them in the dark."
The sails were in excellent condition and the running-gear good. For an hour the Sea Scouts practised hoisting and stowing staysail, foresail, and mainsail, until Mr. Armitage expressed himself satisfied.
"Now," he continued, addressing Roche and Flemming, the two engineers, "we'll run the engines. We can spare you, Woodleigh, if necessary, but theRosalie'stwin engines ought to be less trouble than theOlivette'ssingle one, because the controls are worked from the deck. Hallo! This for me?"
The last sentence was addressed to a telegraph-boy standing on the quayside with an orange-coloured envelope in his hand.
"Mr. Armitage," replied the messenger.
The Scoutmaster read the telegram. "No reply, thanks," he said.
The wire was from Mr. Jackson to say that he was leaving Liverpool Street at eight.
"He'll be here just after twelve," said the Scoutmaster. "It's now twenty past eleven, so Warkworth and Hepburn can go to the station to meet him and bring him along. By Jove! It's piping up. We'll be lucky if we are able to start to-morrow."