"There are worse things than being weather-bound with a crew of Sea Scouts," observed Mr. Jackson that same evening. "You've a lively lot of lads, Armitage, and they keep you amused, I'm sure."
"They're not so dusty," admitted Mr. Armitage modestly. He was reluctant to "spout" over the merits of the lads he had himself trained. "I've had inexperienced crews in the old R.N.V.R. days, and managed to lick 'em into shape, and in their initial stages they weren't equal to these lads, yet we had to go to sea with them and stand a chance of knocking up against Fritz in addition."
"To say nothing of bumping on a mine," added the Oxford Scoutmaster.
Mr. Armitage nodded assent.
"And the danger still exists," he continued. "I haven't said anything to my youngsters, because I didn't consider it advisable. But the fact remains that there are stray floating mines that can hardly be seen owing to their being smothered with barnacles and weeds. And they'll be knocking around for years, I'm afraid."
"There wouldn't be much left of theRosalieif she struck one," commented Mr. Jackson.
"No, indeed," agreed his companion. "There would be one consolation—we wouldn't know anything about it. However, the North Sea is wide, so we can but trust in Providence."
"What do you make of the weather?" asked Mr. Jackson.
Mr. Armitage glanced aloft. In the twilight the dark clouds were not scudding so rapidly as they had done earlier in the day.
"Change of wind, I fancy," he replied. "Glass is rising slowly. One hardly knows what to make of the weather nowadays, and the forecasts in the paper are generally hopelessly wrong. Well, shall we turn in? If there's any chance of making a passage to-morrow, we'll start."
At 5 a.m. all hands turned out, bathed, and had breakfast. It was still blowing fairly fresh, but the wind had veered through west and was now practically nor'-west.
"Off-shore wind," observed the Scoutmaster. "We'll be all right as far as Harwich, so get busy."
The Sea Scouts needed no second bidding. Roche and Flemming, donning overalls, dived below to the engine-room. The others, assisted by Mr. Jackson, set to work to lower the masts to allow theRosalieto pass under the bridge.
Precisely at eight o'clock the Red Ensign was hoisted, the warps cast off, and the yacht, under power, started on her long voyage.
By the time she had taken to traverse the long stretch of river that enters the North Sea at Gorleston, Peter Stratton had made himself acquainted withRosalie'ssteering capabilities, in spite of the fact that navigation was rather complicated owing to the number of fishing-boats under way in the narrow channel.
"Look out for the tide setting across the pierheads," cautioned the Scoutmaster.
The North Sea was not looking at its best. Although the wind was off shore, there was a nasty "lop" off the entrance to the harbour. Even the lightship was pounding heavily, cascades of water pouring through her hawse-pipes as she lifted to the waves; sailing-coasters were rolling badly in spite of their reduced canvas; and tramps, with trysails set to steady them, were lurching along, leaving a long, almost horizontal trail of smoke far to leeward.
"Thick out there," observed Hepburn. "As bad as we had round the Maplins. We're rolling a bit too."
There was no doubt about it, theRosaliecould and did roll. With the wind abeam her decks were soon wet. It was almost impossible for the crew to move without holding on, and, except for the small wheel-house, there was no protection on deck from the wind and spray.
"We'll see what a little canvas will do," said Mr. Armitage. "She's stiff enough. Up with trysail and mainsail, lads."
Quickly the canvas bellied to the quartering wind, and, as the sheets were hove taut, theRosalieno longer rolled like a barrel. The disconcerting motion gave place to a rhythmic glide as she lifted gracefully to the waves.
"A good ten or eleven knots," declared Mr. Armitage. "She's as stiff as a house. We'll have the foresail set and stop the engines."
This was done. Although the speed fell off to a bare five knots, the yacht was carrying her tide and simply waltzing past the shore.
"Give me sail for pleasure any old day," declared Mr. Jackson. "Petrol's all very well if you're in a hurry, but when all's said and done canvas wants a lot of beating."
The Sea Scouts revelled in the situation. With the breeze being true and in their favour, they could lie on the deck and enjoy the view, as theRosalieslipped past Lowestoft and made short work of it towards Southwold. Close in under the land they were no longer subjected to clouds of spray, and the tardy appearance of the sun gave a finishing touch to their enjoyment.
There was no immediate hurry. They had plenty of time to cover the fifty odd miles between Yarmouth and Harwich, where Mr. Armitage had decided to put in for the night. A series of short passages was preferable to making a direct run across to the Forelands with the prospect of finding themselves off Dover in the dark, and the Scoutmaster knew from experience the effect of carrying on and depriving the crew of a much-needed rest. If occasion demanded, he would be equal to it, but he preferred otherwise.
So theRosalieheld on, passing close to Aldborough, and giving the low-lying Orfordness a wide berth, and at 5 p.m., without having had to touch a single sheet from the time canvas had been set, Hepburn reported a lightship on the port bow.
"That's the Cork," said Stratton, consulting the chart. "We're getting near Harwich. Any tea going, Woodleigh? Now's our chance before we stow canvas."
Mr. Armitage, after glancing to windward, gave Hepburn directions as to the course.
"We'll leave you to it, Alan," he said. "If you want anything, give a hail. We'll keep your tea hot."
The rest of the crew went below, where a sumptuous meal was being served in the main cabin, leaving Hepburn in the wheel-house.
Woodleigh had provided his companions (and incidentally himself) with a generous and wholesome repast. He rather prided himself upon his skill as a cook at sea, and he certainly did himself justice.
Hungry as hunters, the two Scoutmasters and five boys seated themselves round the swing table, and Mr. Armitage began pouring out tea, while Woodleigh served out a helping of cold veal and ham pie.
Suddenly, just as everyone was settling down to his tea, theRosalie, which had hitherto been heeling at an almost constant angle, lurched violently to leeward. Stratton, Flemming, and Warkworth, their chairs slipping from under them, rolled in a heap upon the floor, while Mr. Jackson, in a vain endeavour to prevent himself from being pitched across the cabin, subsided heavily upon the table. It tilted under his weight, and the next moment everything that had been placed upon it slithered on the struggling trio of prostrate Sea Scouts.
There was no time to waste in contemplating the scene of chaos. The yacht was well down on her beam ends. In a thrice Mr. Armitage dashed up the companion-ladder and gained the deck.
A violent squall, its approach unnoticed by Hepburn in the sheltered wheel-house, had swept down upon theRosalie. The first intimation the young helmsman had was finding the yacht heel until half a dozen planks of her deck were awash. It was only by holding on to the spokes of the wheel that he saved himself from being thrown heavily against the plate-glass window.
"Luff!" shouted the Scoutmaster, as he hauled himself along by the weather-rail towards the wheel-house.
Hepburn was already endeavouring to luff, but, although he put the helm hard-a-port, the yacht showed no tendency to fly up into the wind. Pinned down by the closely-set staysail, she simply lay over and refused to recover.
Literally sliding to leeward until he stood knee-deep in water against the lee rail, Mr. Armitage cast of the staysail sheet. The heavy triangular canvas slatted in the wind, the sheet block flogging to and fro in a manner that resisted all attempts on the part of the Scoutmaster to secure it. The while the sail was making a noise like the cracking of a gigantic whip.
Relieved of the tremendous pressure, theRosalierecovered from her dangerous list, but it was not until Mr. Armitage, assisted by Stratton and Roche, who had followed him on deck, had lowered and stowed the staysail that the yacht came up head to wind.
"That was a nasty one!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage breathlessly. "Start the motors, Roche—sharp as you can!"
Not a little scared, the rest of the crew lowered and secured the mainsail, while theRosalie, under bare poles, fell broadside on to the waves, which in a very short time had assumed huge and threatening proportions. It was an off-shore squall, and none the less dangerous on that account, and until Roche and Flemming got the motors going theRosaliehad a particularly bad time.
It was raining heavily. Already the shore, although less than two miles away, was blotted out. The wind shrieked through the rigging, blinding showers of spray enveloped the wheel-house, and solid masses of water pounded the heaving, slippery deck.
In ten minutes the squall was over. The sun shone brightly, and although the waves ran high they were no longer dangerous, while dead to windward lay the secure harbour of Harwich.
"Why didn't you luff when you saw it coming, Alan?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"I did, sir, but she wouldn't answer," said Hepburn.
"I'm to blame," soliloquized the Scoutmaster. "That's a lesson never to leave the deck with only a youngster in charge. I ought to have known that theRosalie'scanvas is only an auxiliary to her motors, and not the motors to the canvas. She's not built as a sailing-craft, and she won't go about under sail alone. So in future I'll bear that in mind."
Twenty minutes later theRosaliemoored alongside a barge in a basin on the Felixstowe side of the harbour, and her crew had an opportunity of investigating the damage.
The saloon presented a picture of utter chaos. The floor was literally paved with fragments of crockery, cemented with jam, marmalade, and greasy gravy. On this conglomeration of debris the cushions on the windward bunk had been hurled, together with the contents of a bookcase which had been wrenched from its fastenings by the abnormal list.
In the galley things were almost as bad, but the fo'c'sle came off lightly. That was mainly owing to the methodical stowing of gear by the lads themselves, and the few kit-bags that had been dislodged were quickly replaced.
It was rough luck to have to set to work to clear up after a long day's run, but the Sea Scouts tackled the job manfully and cheerfully, and in less than an hour and a half theRosalie'tween decks was reduced to a state of order.
"We were not the only craft in that squall, sir," reported Stratton. "There's a tug coming in with two dismasted boats."
The two Scoutmasters and the rest of the Sea Scouts hurried on deck. Passing the entrance to the basin was a fussy little steamer towing two large "bawleys". One of the latter showed about ten feet of mast ending in a jagged stump. The other's mast had been snapped off close to the deck, and evidently her crew had been compelled to cut the sails and wreckage clear. The first boat was more fortunate, for her spars and canvas were lashed to her deck.
"Hard lines," commented Mr. Armitage; "but those fellows' plight rather vindicates us. If two professionally-manned fishing-boats are dismasted without warning, we were fortunate in merely being thrown on our beam ends without losing any of our deck-gear. Now, lads, turn in. Glass is rising slowly, and the sky's red. With luck, we'll be in Dover to-morrow night."
The Scoutmaster's prognostics of a fine day were justified. Up at dawn, the crew of theRosaliefound the sky was cloudless; not a ripple disturbed the harbour, while the smoke from a couple of destroyers getting up steam rose almost vertically in the still air.
The only fly in the ointment was what would be termed in Admiralty communiqués "low visibility". Without being actually foggy, the weather was hazy, so that from the Felixstowe side, where theRosalielay, it was only just possible to discern the outlines of the town and dockyard of Harwich.
"Morning mists," remarked optimist Roche. "It'll clear when the sun's up properly."
"Let's hope so," added Mr. Armitage.
He had no great desire to grope his way across the Thames estuary in thick weather, trusting to the aid of a compass to thread his course betweenthe numerous sand-banks. TheRosalie'scompass did not possess a deviation-card, and one or two bearings that the Scoutmaster had already taken showed an error of from half to one and a half points.
"Starboard's duty watch," observed Mr. Armitage, when the yacht had drawn clear of the basin. "Stratton, you take the helm. How's the tide?"
"One hour's flood, sir," replied the Patrol-leader promptly.
"Right-o! that will give us a chance to cut across most of the banks," continued the Scoutmaster. "Keep her sou' by east; I'm trying to make the N.E. Gunfleet buoy."
Clear of Harwich harbour, theRosaliesettled down on the given compass-course. Even in the open sea the water was as smooth as glass, but the mist showed no tendency to disperse. If anything, it grew thicker, patches of vapour drifting slowly over the placid surface, rendering the range of visibility a matter of anything from a quarter to two miles.
With both engines going at easy speed—Mr. Armitage never believed in giving the motors full throttle except in cases of necessity—the yacht was doing a good eight and a half knots, leaving a clean wake astern.
"Bit of a difference to theOlivette," remarked Peter Stratton to Roche.
The latter, having finished with the engines for the time being, was exchanging the fume-laden atmosphere of the motor-room for the pure, early morning air of the North Sea.
"Aye," agreed Dick. "She'd be able to go up the Thames without scooping half the water out of the river and chucking it over the banks. And she's a clinking pair of motors—easy to start and very little vibration. Pre-war engines," he added, with a supreme contempt for anything built in these days of dear labour and inferior material.
"Getting on all right?" inquired the Scoutmaster, as he entered the wheel-house and glanced at the compass. "Steady, Peter, you're half a point out."
"It's jolly awkward steering by compass," remarked Stratton, as he swung the yacht back to the correct bearing.
"It is," agreed Mr. Armitage; "especially when you've no fixed object to steer by except the lubber's line. But be careful. I don't want to miss the North-East Gunfleet if I can help it."
By this time the low-lying Essex shore was lost in a haze. According to the chart, the Naze was three miles away on the starboard quarter, but as far as visibility went it might have been fifty. Not a buoy nor another vessel was in sight. The limited horizon was unbroken.
"It's pretty thick ahead," said the Scoutmaster, rubbing the moisture from the lenses of his binoculars. "Keep a good look-out, Woodleigh; we ought to be somewhere near the buoy by this time."
"Something white ahead," reported Woodleigh, who, as look-out, was perched "in the eyes" of the yacht.
"Broken water," declared the Scoutmaster, peering through the mist. "It's a tide-rip over the edge of the Gunfleet. We've missed the buoy, and if we carry on we'll pile ourselves up on the sand. Port helm, Stratton; that's right; keep her at that."
Mr. Armitage consulted the chart.
"See anything of a red lighthouse on piles, Woodleigh?" he asked. "It ought to be in that direction."
The Sea Scout looked in the direction indicated, but could distinguish nothing in the shape of a building.
"There's sand showing on our starboard beam, sir," he reported, as the mist temporarily dispersed. "I can hear a dog bark."
"So can I," agreed Mr. Armitage. "A dog on board a fishing-smack, most likely. See anything of a boat?"
"No, sir," replied the look-out.
The Scoutmaster levelled his glasses upon what looked to the naked eye like a short, weed-covered stump on the edge of the sands. The binoculars revealed it to be a dog sitting on its haunches and yelping and barking dolorously.
"How did it get there, I wonder?" asked Roche.
"Lighthouse-keeper's dog, perhaps," hazarded Stratton.
"Stand in a little closer," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Give a cast with the lead, Woodleigh."
The sounding gave six fathoms.
"Good enough," declared Mr. Armitage, again referring to the chart. "The Gunfleet is fairly steep-to on this side. Give her half-speed, Peter."
By means of the throttle-levers in the wheel-house speed could be varied without the necessity for Roche to be below. At a modest four knots theRosaliegroped her way towards the north-western edge of the sand-bank known as the Gunfleet.
"There's the lighthouse," declared Mr. Armitage, indicating a lobster-pot-like building perched upon several massive piles. A partial lifting of the mist revealed its outlines a good two miles away. "If your theory's right, Stratton, the dog stands a good chance of being drowned before it can regain the lighthouse. The tide's making pretty rapidly."
"We must rescue it, sir," declared Stratton.
"Certainly," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Carry on, Peter. I'll take the wheel whilst you are gone."
There was no necessity for the Patrol-leader to turn out the port watch. Already the "watch below" had heard the news and were on deck.
Quickly the dinghy was cleared away, the davits swung out, and the boat prepared for lowering. Directly theRosalielost way Stratton, Warkworth, and Hepburn jumped into her. Peter steered and the others rowed, pulling lustily at the tough ash oars until the dinghy almost leapt through the water.
Upon drawing close to the sands, Stratton saw that there was a considerable "tumble" over the edge. To attempt to land would be highly dangerous, in spite of the fact that the sea was quite calm elsewhere.
"Way 'nough!" order the coxswain.
The boat stopped fifty yards from the broken water. The dog had ceased barking and yelping, and was now wagging a stumpy tail.
"You'll have to swim for it, old fellow," declared Peter. "Come on, good dog."
But the good dog drew the line at plunging into the water. Several times it attempted to do so, but the creamy, broken seas frightened it.
"Poor little beast!" exclaimed Hepburn "it's got the wind up."
"It'll be drowned if it doesn't make a dash for it," declared Warkworth. "The tide's risen a good distance over the flats since we've been here."
"There's water all round the dog now," said Peter, standing up in the stern sheets. "It's on a sort of little island separated from the main sands. Come on, you! Good dog!"
"Nothin' doin'," reported Warkworth. "The little beast hasn't any pluck."
"Perhaps it's been knocked out of him," said Peter quietly. "I'm going to fetch him. Stand by to pick me up, but don't go any nearer."
Stripping off his clothes, the Patrol-leader took a clean header over the stern, and struck out with slow, steady strokes towards the sands. It was a comparatively easy matter to swim through the surf. The difficulty, he knew, would be the return journey.
The dog, perceiving the approach of the swimmer, barked joyously, and as Peter touched bottom and waded through the shallow water the animal plucked up courage to meet him.
"Why, it's only a big pup!" exclaimed the lad. "No wonder he funked it. Now, come along, old boy."
The dog had no collar, so Peter gripped him by the scruff of the neck and waded deeper and deeper on the return journey.
The dinghy looked quite a long way off, and the broken water far more formidable than when viewed from seaward. The lad was conscious, too, of a very considerable set of tide that tended to carry him in a south-westerly direction.
Still holding the dog by the scruff, Peter took to swimming. It was a tough struggle. Baffled by the breakers, and hampered by being able to use one hand only for propulsion purposes, Stratton had quite enough by the time he had successfully fought his way through the broken water.
"Now, swim for it by yourself, pup," he exclaimed breathlessly. "Follow me and you'll be all right."
He released his hold and took to an easy breast stroke. For a few seconds the dog swam independently; then, possibly afraid that he was being deserted by his rescuer, the pup begun clawing Peter's bare back, and attempted to clamber upon his shoulders.
Turning, Peter placed one hand over the animal's muzzle and pushed him away. The dog promptly swam round, and began swimming back towards the sandbank.
"Come here," gurgled Stratton, who had just swallowed a mouthful of salt water.
The dog obeyed. The Patrol-leader gripped him by the neck and again struck out towards the boat. He no longer attempted to hold up the pup's head. The animal was now swimming powerfully, and Peter derived a certain amount of support from the sturdy four-legged swimmer.
Meanwhile Warkworth and Hepburn, disregarding the Patrol-leader's instructions, backed the dinghy towards the swimmers, and it was with feelings of relief that Stratton saw the rescued animal lifted into the boat.
"Give way," he ordered, hanging on to the transom. "Tow me clear. You're too near the surf."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: IT WAS WITH FEELINGS OF RELIEF THAT STRATTON SAW THE RESCUED ANIMAL LIFTED INTO THE BOAT]
[Illustration: IT WAS WITH FEELINGS OF RELIEF THAT STRATTON SAW THE RESCUED ANIMAL LIFTED INTO THE BOAT]
It was not until the dinghy was in quite calm water that Peter got on board. He was so exhausted that Hepburn had to help him over the stern, while Warkworth crouched in the bows to prevent the dinghy dipping under the combined weight of the two Sea Scouts. They knew how to manage small boats, and the lessons learnt on the Solent served them in good stead.
Five minutes later the dinghy was hoisted out, and the three Sea Scouts with the trophy stood onRosalie'sdeck.
"What a miserable little beast," exclaimed Flemming, regarding the soaking wet little pup.
"Look here, young fellah-me-lad!" said Peter, in mock reproof. "When I ask your opinion of my pup, you can give it; not before."
"We know where we are now, at any rate," commented Mr. Armitage. "True we are on the wrong side of the Gunfleet, but the lighthouse enables us to fix our position."
"How did we get so far out of our course?" inquired Mr. Jackson.
"My mistake, I suppose," replied the Scoutmaster. "I must have underrated the strength of the young flood, and it set us too far to the west'ard. I can see the N.E. Gunfleet now. Keep that buoy on your starboard hand, Hepburn. Take a compass-bearing in case the mist increases again."
Meanwhile Peter Stratton, having completed his toilet, was meditatively contemplating the pup for which he had risked his life. The little animal, having had a good feed of bread soaked in condensed milk, was sitting up and looking, with his head turned slightly on one side, at his rescuer.
"You are a funny pup," declared the Patrol-leader.
The pup admitted the impeachment by giving a series of short, sharp barks and wagging his stumpy tail.
He was about two months old. His coat was black with the exception of a tuft of white hair on his chin and a white patch on his chest. His hair was fairly long and silky, his nose long and straight, his paws broad. When he walked he moved with a bear-like gait.
"What sort of animal is he, sir?" asked Peter.
Mr. Armitage refused to accept responsibility.
"Ask Mr. Jackson," he suggested.
"Not much use asking me," said the Oxford Scoutmaster when appealed to. "Mongrel, I should think, with a strain of sheep-dog about him. Wonder how he got on the sands?"
"We'll try and find out," replied Mr. Armitage. "We'll semaphore the Gunfleet Lighthouse and make inquiries. It will give our fellows a chance to test their signalling knowledge."
"Bit out of our way, isn't it?" inquired Mr. Jackson, after consulting the chart.
"Yes," admitted the Scoutmaster, "it is. But we'll have a better opportunity of setting a course across the East Swin and over the Sunk. There'll be plenty of water for us over the latter sand-bank. Get the code-book, Peter, and stand by with the ensign and code-pennant."
By this time theRosaliehad rounded the buoy marking the seaward extremity of the Gunfleet Sands, and was running down past the south-eastern side towards the pile-lighthouse.
"Up with the ensign!" ordered the Scoutmaster.
It was not long before the Red Ensign, with the red and white stripped code flag under it, was observed by the lighthouse, and an answering pennant fluttered from the latter's flagstaff.
"Hoist VOX," continued Mr. Armitage. "That means," he added in explanation, "I am going to semaphore to you'. Now, Woodleigh, stand by with the hand-flags—they're ready."
"Found a dog on the sands; is it yours?" signalled Woodleigh.
"No," was the reply. "We saw it thrown overboard from a bawley two hours ago. Couldn't get to it."
"Thank you," replied the Sea Scout signaller. "Do you know name or number of bawley?"
"No," was the brief answer. "No name or number visible."
TheRosaliehauled down her bunting, and, starboarding helm, shaped a course for the still-distant Kentish shore.
Those of the crew not on duty were discussing the mystery of the pup, and advancing wondrous theories as to how the little animal came to be hove overboard.
Had it incurred the wrath of the short-tempered skipper of the fishing-boat, or had the cook taken summary vengeance upon the little animal? Or had it fallen overboard unobserved by any of the crew?
"We'll make further inquiries later," decided Mr. Armitage. "I don't fancy, however, that he will be claimed, especially if someone threw him overboard deliberately. I suppose you want him, Peter?"
"I'd like to have him, sir—awfully much," replied the Patrol-leader. "But we all had a hand at rescuing him. Couldn't he belong to the Troop?"
"Right-o! That's the sort!" exclaimed Woodleigh and Hepburn.
"If you are agreeable," assented the Scoutmaster, genuinely pleased at Stratton's unselfishness, "we'll adopt him as a mascot. Carried unanimously! The next item on the programme is what's his name to be?"
Half a dozen names were suggested, discussed and rejected.
"He's like a young bear," remarked Peter. "Why not call him Bruin?"
"Very suitable, Peter," said the Scoutmaster approvingly. "We'll have to train him not to gnaw ropes and tear canvas gear. He must live up to his reputation as a Sea Scout's mascot."
"I'll make a collar for him," declared Hepburn. "I've a spare belt I can cut down, and there are some strips of brass in the engine-room. I'll cut his name and address on a piece and rivet it to his collar."
"Go slow, Alan," cautioned Mr. Armitage. "Bruin isn't anything like full grown yet. If you make a collar to fit he'll outgrow it in a few months."
"I wouldn't have a flat collar, if I were you," suggested Mr. Jackson. "It will spoil the dog's fur. Why not a round one—round in section, I mean—and a brass disk attached to it?"
The lads readily fell in with the idea, and Hepburn and Flemming went below to put the work in hand, while Peter, recklessly breaking his comb in two, proceeded to tease out Bruin's tangled and matted coat.
Meanwhile Mr. Armitage had returned to the wheel-house and was busy with the chart and compass. Woodleigh at the wheel was steering faultlessly. TheRosaliewas now half-way across Barrow Deep and approaching the shoal water over the Sunk Sand. Already the Gunfleet Lighthouse had faded in the mist. Not a buoy nor a vessel was visible. The sands, hidden by the rising tide, gave no sign of their presence. Optically the yacht was in the midst of a vast sea, but a deviation from the correct course would speedily pile her upon one of the submerged dangers that infest the Thames estuary.
"Lightship ahead, sir," reported Woodleigh.
"That's Black Deep," replied the Scoutmaster. "We're all right, so far. Now port helm a point. That ought to take us through Fisherman's Gat."
A few minutes later the hitherto tranquil surface of the water was ruffled with cats' paws. A light breeze from the nor'west'ard was springing up.
"All hands on deck!" shouted the Scoutmaster. "All hands make sail."
Pell-mell the Sea Scouts tumbled on deck. They, too, welcomed the breeze. In a very short space of time canvas was hoisted and sheets trimmed. TheRosalie, heeling to the quartering wind, increased her speed a good two knots.
With the springing up of the breeze the mist disappeared. No longer was the horizon unbroken. Away on the starboard hand a constant stream of shipping was passing up and down the Edinburgh Channel. Ahead lay the Tongue Lightship, making the junction of two of the principal approaches to the Thames. Beyond, and presenting a low indistinct line that could hardly be distinguished from a bank of clouds, lay the shores of Kent, or, to be more precise, the Isle of Thanet.
"Keep her on the lightship, Alan," cautioned Mr. Armitage, as he noticed the boat's head swing a good three points off her course.
"I'm trying to, sir," replied Hepburn, who was now "taking his trick", "but she will fly round. I've got the helm hard-a-starboard now."
Before the Scoutmaster could get to the wheel-house Roche came on deck.
"Starboard engine's konked," he reported. "I can't quite find out what's wrong. Choked jet or something in the carburettor, sir, I think."
"Throttle down your port engine and see if that makes her easier on her helm," said Mr. Armitage.
Even running at slow speed on one engine failed to cure the tendency of theRosalieto run up into the wind. With her helm hard over she "gripped" badly. It was a case of either having to stop the port engine or else stow canvas.
While the Scoutmaster was rapidly deliberating as to the best course to pursue, a heavy and decidedly uncanny jar shook the vessel. The revolutions of the port propeller sensibly decreased, and finally the motor refused duty. Dependent solely upon her canvas, theRosalieslowed down to a bare two knots.
At the first sign of anything going wrong Roche dived below. Flemming was already in the motor-room, engaged in the task of taking down the carburettor, until the giving out of the port engine called for immediate attention.
"What is it?" asked Roche. "Declutch, and start her up again."
The motor fired easily, but the moment Flemming engaged the clutch, it stopped.
"Try again, and put her in the reverse," suggested Dick.
Flemming did so. The shaft made perhaps half a dozen revolutions, and then the motor stopped with a disconcerting thud.
"Something round our propeller; that's what it is," declared Roche. "I'll see Mr. Armitage."
The Scoutmaster went aft and leant over the taff-rail. Trailing astern a few feet beneath the surface were the remains of a length of tarred fishing-net. A few fathoms of it were wound round and round the shaft as tight as a flexible wire rope.
"It's unfortunate, but it can't be helped," said Mr. Armitage. "We'll have to carry on under sail until you can get the starboard engine running, Dick. Found out what's wrong with it?"
"Flemming is taking the carburettor down, sir," replied Roche. "I'll give him a hand. It will be a twenty minutes' job at the least."
During the time repairs were being effected, theRosaliemade slow progress. She was under-canvassed, and, owing to her light draught, made leeway like a crab.
The while Roche and Flemming toiled in the hot engine-room, taking down pipes, cleaning gauzes and clearing jets. They also removed the sparking-plugs, washed them in petrol, and rubbed the points with emery cloth.
Almost to a second on the expiration of the twenty minutes the starboard motor was restarted, and upon the clutch being engaged in the ahead position theRosalieincreased her speed to six knots.
"That's better," ejaculated the Scoutmaster fervently. "We stand a chance of getting into Dover before dark after all. We'll have to lie aground to get that propeller cleared. That's six or seven hours' delay."
"Rough luck, sir," commented Hepburn. "Wonder who our Jonah is?"
"Bruin, more than likely," replied Warkworth. "That's why he was slung overboard."
It was not until seven in the evening that theRosalierounded the North Foreland. The wind had dropped until it was a flat calm, the tide was foul, and, consequently, progress under one engine was slow. Yet it was not tedious. The white cliffs and the numerous buildings ashore provided the Sea Scouts with a constantly changing variety of scenery, while plentiful shipping added to the picturesqueness of the outlook.
"Oughtn't we to see the coast of France, sir?" asked Woodleigh.
"Hardly," replied the Scoutmaster. "It's a good 35 miles away. Even supposing Cape Gris Nez is 400 feet in height, in clear weather it could be seen only from a distance of 27 miles."
"But I can see land in that direction," persisted the sceptical lad. "A little to the right—south'ard, I mean, of that lightship."
"Yes," agreed Mr. Armitage, "you can see land; so can I. But if it were high water you wouldn't. The land is the Goodwin Sands, so named after Earl Goodwin, and forming part of his estates until the sea swallowed it up."
"Quicksands, aren't they, sir?" asked Hepburn.
"Yes, when they are covered. At low tide they are hard—so hard that people have landed and played cricket on them before now."
He paused, and kept his eyes fixed upon a projecting cliff now almost abeam.
"Too jolly slow, I reckon," he remarked. "We've lost our tide. It's running pretty hot."
"We certainly are not progressing very rapidly," agreed Mr. Jackson.
"Then we'll cut out Dover and put into Ramsgate instead," decided the Scoutmaster.
The tide had been flowing for about an hour when theRosaliepassed between the two pierheads. Even then the masonry towered far above her deck.
"There's a vacant berth, sir!" exclaimed Stratton, pointing to a flight of steps on the inner side of the East Pier.
"Yes," replied Mr. Armitage, "but it won't do for us. I'll tell you why later."
Throttling the only efficient motor to dead slow, the Scoutmaster brought the yacht steadily and carefully until she was almost abeam of a large steam trawler.
"Ahoy!" shouted Mr. Armitage. "Can we make fast alongside of you?"
"Ay, ay," was the reply. "Only we're off out at four to-morrow morn."
"Suit us admirably," said the Scoutmaster. "Stand by with a line fore and aft."
Hepburn with a coiled rope ran for'ard, while Peter Stratton gathered up a line right aft. They knew how to heave a line properly —underhand, not overhand. In a very short space of time theRosaliewas moored alongside the drifterStrathspey, with fenders out and springs made fast for additional security.
"Now, Peter," said Mr. Armitage briskly. "Do you know why we brought up here instead of alongside the stone pier? Let me give you a tip. By so doing, we spare ourselves the worry of having to tend the warps all night. There's a rise and fall of 15 feet here, which is a lot compared with the 6 or 7 at Milford. Those fellows on the drifter will have to shorten their warps as the tide rises and pay out when it falls. We, being alongside the drifter, simply rise and fall with her."
"But she goes out of harbour at four in the morning," remarked Hepburn.
"And we'll have to shift," added Mr. Armitage. "That's what I want to do—to shift on a falling tide on the mud, then by six o'clock we'll be able to clear our propeller. Now, who's for the shore?"
The Sea Scouts, after a "wash and brush up", landed via the deck of the drifter. To get to the top of the jetty was a difficult matter, involving first a jump of about four feet to the lowermost rung of a vertical and slippery ladder.
Bruin made the ascent in a kit-bag, to which was made fast a rope from the edge of the jetty. Considerably scared when released, the pup quickly recovered, and was soon frisking about, barking in high glee.
"Where's the pup to sleep to-night, Peter?" asked Roche, as the crew returned to theRosalie.
"We'll rig up a bed for him in the fo'c'sle," replied the Patrol-leader. "A box with some paper in it will do."
"Hope he won't start tearing our gear in the middle of the night," remarked Flemming.
"Not he," replied Stratton, eager to champion his pet's good points. "He hasn't attempted to chew anything since he's been on board, except his food. I say, I'm sleepy."
"So am I," declared Roche. "It's the salt air, I suppose. And we've got to turn out at half-past three to-morrow. Out of our snug bunks, lads, into the cold grey dawn. Sounds cheerful, doesn't it?"
"Oh, it's nice to get up in the mornin'," chortled Woodleigh.
"But it's nicer to be in bed."
Ten minutes later silence reigned in the fo'c'sle. Six Sea Scouts and one dog were fast asleep.
In the after-cabin the two Scoutmasters yarned until nearly eleven o'clock, then, after taking a turn on deck to see that everything was all right, they, too, sought well-earned repose.
Between two and three in the morning Mr. Armitage was awakened by Bruin barking furiously. For some moments he listened, thinking that perhaps a nocturnal prowler was trying to get on board.
Then the barking gave place to a series of whines.
"Shut up, and go to sleep," muttered the Scoutmaster drowsily. "Why can't Stratton keep the animal quiet? Surely the fellows in the fo'c'sle can't rest with that noise going on."
For about half a minute there was silence, then the pup began barking again, his sharp voice trailing off into a melancholy howl.
"Dashed if I can stand that," soliloquized Mr. Armitage. "I'll see what's wrong with the little animal. Perhaps he's pining for his former master."
Slipping out of his bunk, the Scoutmaster gained the deck and went for'ard. As he approached the partly-open forehatch he detected the pungent smell of burning rags.
He was on the point of dashing below when he hesitated. It was not for fear of what might happen to him that caused him to pause. It was the thought that if he were overcome by the fumes the lads below might be suffocated, and no one would be a bit the wiser until it was too late.
"Jackson!" he shouted. "Turn out. There's fire aboard."
Mr. Jackson, awake in an instant, came on deck. He had drawn on his sea-boots, and had thoughtfully brought Mr. Armitage's with him.
"Shove these on," he said. "It's no joke standing on burning embers with bare feet."
The two Scoutmasters shouted down the hatchway, but there was no reply. The skipper and two hands of the drifter lying alongside, aroused by the commotion, came up and scrambled on theRosalie'sdeck.
"Hang on to the slack!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage, bending a line round his waist and handing the coil to his companion.
Without hesitation he descended the fo'c'sle ladder. The air was thick with smoke, but, by keeping his mouth tightly shut, the Scoutmaster was able to make his way to the nearest bunk.
With a powerful heave he lifted the sleeper and brought him on deck. It was Hepburn, torpid and on the verge of unconsciousness.
Four times Mr. Armitage fought his way below, each time returning with one of his lads, until Mr. Jackson interposed.
"My turn," he said firmly. "You've had enough."
Flemming and Stratton were the last of the crew to be brought on deck. The Oxford Scoutmaster made another descent, to return with Bruin in his arms. Even as he did so the smouldering stuff, fanned by the draught, burst into flames.
The source of the fire was in the engine-room, which communicated with the fo'c'sle. Although the clear flame considerably reduced the volume of smoke, the grave danger became apparent. Within a few feet of the fire was the main fuel-tank, the petrol-tank being on the other side of the motor-room.
"Close the engine-room skylight," exclaimed Mr. Armitage, again girding on the life-line. "I'll get the pyrene going."
He went below. The heat was now oppressive, but the air considerably purer. Fortunately he knew exactly where the fire-extinguishers were stowed. Working rapidly, yet deliberately, he dashed a quantity of pyrene on the seat of the conflagration, and with marvellous swiftness the fire died down.
Battling his way through the now pungent fumes, for the pyrene had destroyed the oxygen in the confined space, the Scoutmaster gained the deck exhausted but triumphant.
"Batten everything down, Jackson," he said breathlessly. "We've done the trick this time."
Meanwhile the six Sea Scouts, stretched out upon the dewy deck, were recovering from the effects of their partial asphyxiation under the somewhat rough but efficacious treatment by the crew of the drifter; and by the time the hatchways and skylights were covered with wet canvas to complete the stifling of the fire, Stratton and his companions were able to walk unaided to the after-cabin.
In the pale dawn Mr. Jackson contemplated Bruin. The pup was drinking water copiously. It seemed impossible that his small body could accommodate such a quantity of fluid.
"Some one called Bruin a Jonah," he remarked. "I fancy the dog has vindicated himself this time."