The crews of both boats assembled in the saloon of the guardship for dinner. It was a convivial meal. The lads let their tongues go with a will when they weren't eating. The two Scoutmasters were discussing scouting and talking over old times—both had been in command of M.L.'s during the war, but had been in widely different patrols—as if they had known each other intimately for years.
The meal too was done to perfection. Hayes, the culinary expert of the Southend Sea Scouts, had lived up to his reputation. The huge sea-pie was pronounced excellent, while a plum-duff of immense size was so light and appetizing that it disappeared altogether. And no one felt any ill-effects after it, which was probably one of the best tests of its good quality.
After dinner the two Scoutmasters went on board theOcean Brideto acquaint Mr. Collinson with the alteration of plans, and to ask him to send for Bedford or Coles whenever they might be of use.
At two o'clock theOlivette'screw went on boardtheir own craft in order to start up the powerful engine. While this operation was in progress Mr. Graham, Desmond, Findlay, and Hayes transferred their travelling kit to the motor-boat, after the former had given final instructions to the two caretakers of the guardship.
"If I were you, Graham," said Mr. Armitage, "I'd put your three fellows into different watches during the trip. It would give them a good chance to pick up landmarks when you bring theSpindriftback. My lads can put them up to a wheeze or two. As far as we are concerned, we now work the craft in three watches instead of two, when making long passages. I find it better for the lads in every way—four hours on and eight off."
"Right-o!" agreed Mr. Graham. "It's quite a sound scheme."
"No need for that arrangement to-day, though," commented Mr. Armitage. "It's only about an hour's run from here to Keyhaven, especially as we carry our tide. On Monday we'll put one of your lads into each watch. It will take us roughly about twelve hours to reach Plymouth without running the engine all out. It's only a matter of one hundred and twenty-one miles. —All ready, Flemming? Very well, carry on. —I believe in letting my lads act as if I weren't on board," he explained. "It gives them confidence and self-reliance."
"Let go aft!" shouted Flemming from the wheelhouse.
Promptly Bedford on the guardship cast off theOlivette'safter warp. With the flood-tide boring against her starboard quarter, theOlivetteswung quickly until her bows pointed almost down the creek. "Let go for'ard!" ordered Flemming. "Touch ahead."
Putting the helm down the young navigator threw the motor-boat's stern clear of the guardship. "Easy ahead!"
With cheerful adieux to the somewhat glum Bedford and Coles, the Sea Scouts saw the last of the guardship for a good many days. They expected to be back in ten days, but they had yet to learn the futility of fixing a time limit as far as a sailing craft is concerned. Even in the case of a powered-boat there was a fair element of chance to be taken into account when making a coasting trip.
The run down the Solent was only too short: at least the Southend Sea Scouts were of that opinion. With the regular crew of theOlivetteit was a different matter. These waters were no stranger to them, and, although they revelled in being afloat, they were a bit tired of the enclosed channel between the Isle of Wight and the Hampshire shore. Having acquired the taste for exploration, they were never so happy as when navigating unfamiliar waters.
Nevertheless they were very attentive to their guests, pointing out the various objects of interest and answering scores of questions concerning theOlivetteand her adventures.
For Desmond and his chums there was no lack of excitement. They had a distant view of Osborne House, they saw Cowes, with a crowd of yachts anchored, and the strong tideway known as the Roads; Beaulieu and Newton Rivers were pointed out to them—places where theOlivette'screw had had strange experiences. They passed submarines, destroyers, and light cruisers; a giant liner bound from Southampton to New York overtook them, her wash throwing theOlivetteabout like a cork. Seaplanes and flying-boats from the R.A.F. station at Calshot glided overhead. Altogether, it was a brief and exciting hour.
"Game for an early morning to-morrow, Graham?" asked Scoutmaster Armitage abruptly.
"Certainly," was the reply. "What's the scheme?"
"The glass is high and steady," said Mr. Armitage. "It seems a pity to miss the fine weather. What do you say to making a start at 4 a.m.? Barring accidents we ought to be at Plymouth by four or five in the afternoon. That will mean a clear gain of twenty-four hours as far as you are concerned."
"Isn't it upsetting your arrangements?" asked Mr. Graham.
"Not at all. We'll go into Keyhaven on the top of the first high water. That will give us a good two hours alongside the wharf to take in petrol and paraffin. At the second high water we can drop down to our mooring for the night, and start with the first of the west-going tide to-morrow morning."
"These double tides puzzle me," declared the East Coast Scoutmaster frankly. "When a fellow has been used to two high tides a day, it rather muddles him up when he's suddenly got four to deal with."
"Quite simple, really," was the response. "Here—from Hurst to Wootton the second high tide is roughly two hours after the first, Southampton Water has double tide of about the same interval. Now, at Portsmouth there are only two high waters in the day; but the flood makes for seven and a half hours and the ebb is only five and a half hours. Again, at Poole there are double high tides, and roughly the first high water occurs four hours after low tide, and the second high water four hours after the first. It's interesting work studying the tides. My lads are awfully keen on it. Only the other day I was reading a magazine story to them. It described a person embarking on a yacht at Plymouth. The moon was at the full, it was high water, and the time twelve o'clock. Young Woodleigh pulled me up short. 'That can't possibly be, sir', he asserted. I didn't twig it at the time, but the boy was right. High water, full and change, anywhere betweenthe Lizard and Portland Bill, occurs between five o'clock and six-thirty; eastward of Portland it is between ten and twelve o'clock, right round as far as Margate. So high water at Plymouth at the time stated and with the moon at the full is a physical impossibility. Now, we're nearly off the entrance to Keyhaven. It's a fairly tricky channel, but my lads know it. I don't have to bother about anything. To all intents I'm a passenger."
The Southend Sea Scouts were watching the manoeuvres of Woodleigh with ill-concealed wonder. TheOlivettewas apparently heading for a steep, pebbly beach. On the left part of the beach was a port with a detached lighthouse, which they were told was Hurst Castle, one of the places where King Charles I was imprisoned. Almost in the centre of the shore were several coast-guard houses, direct for which the boat appeared to be steering. South'ard of the point the sea, calm everywhere else, was a wide patch of seething water, which Flemming pointed out as Hurst Race.
Suddenly Woodleigh put the helm hard a-port. Round swung theOlivetteuntil her head pointed towards two small beacons in line.
"Wherever is he making for?" whispered Jock. "There's nothing but mud as far as I can make out."
But a little later on the helm was starboarded, and the Southend Sea Scouts saw the entrance to thecreek on their port hand—one of the snuggest little anchorages imaginable, being sheltered by the long stretch of shingle on which Hurst Fort is built.
"There are our moorings," said Woodleigh, indicating a roped barrel bearing the word "Olivette".
"Aren't you going to slow down and pick it up?" inquired Hayes.
"No," was the reply. "Our Scoutmaster's orders are to carry on alongside the wharf. I don't know why, but that's neither here nor there. He generally lets us carry on, but when he does give an order we've jolly well got to obey."
Without mishap theOlivettewas berthed alongside the dilapidated wharf. Then Scoutmaster Armitage told his crew to form up, as he wanted to tell them something.
"I suppose the motor is quite satisfactory, Flemming?" he inquired, for one of the reasons for theOlivette'srun to Wootton was to test the engine after an extensive overhaul.
"Yes, sir."
"That's good. Now, I want you and Woodleigh to fill up the tanks as soon as possible. Warkworth and Hepburn, you'll undertake the provisioning as usual. Make preparations for victualling twelve persons for two days. Rayburn and Willis, get your bikes out of the store and ride round and tell the various parents that we're sailing at daybreak to-morrow, and that thecrew are sleeping on board to-night. That's the new arrangement. All right: dismiss."
"Can't we lend a hand with anything, sir?" asked Desmond.
"Oh, yes," replied Mr. Armitage. "Woodleigh and Flemming will be only too glad if you'll help with the fuel."
The two Scoutmasters went ashore, Mr. Armitage having promised to lend Mr. Graham a set of charts of the Cornish and Devon coasts, and these, not being in general use, he kept at his house at Milford, about a mile and a half from Keyhaven.
"Come along, you fellows," said Flemming with a cheerful grin. "There's nothing like handling barrels of paraffin on a holiday to keep you fit and healthy."
It certainly was hard work rolling two heavy and decidedly sticky barrels from the store to the wharf, and when at length that part of the task was completed there yet remained the filling up of the tanks.
"I say," exclaimed Patrol Leader Desmond. "You are not going to take that paraffin on board in buckets, are you?"
"There's no other way," declared Flemming. "We waste a little, I admit, and it's a dirty job, but there you are."
"Do you happen to have a hose on board?" asked Desmond. "Not one you use for water."
"There's one in the store," said Woodleigh. "It used to be for watering the doctor's garden and washing down his car; but he bought a new one and gave the old one to us. I can't see that it will be much use, though. We haven't a tap for the barrel, and the bung's much too large."
"And besides," added Flemming, in support of his chum, "the deck is higher than the barrel, and paraffin won't run up-hill."
"This paraffin will, I think," rejoined Desmond quietly. "Let's get the hose and try."
The hose was quickly forthcoming. It was about sixty feet in length—much longer than Desmond required.
"Cut it," suggested Flemming. "It's only an old one."
Desmond shook his head.
"It would be a pity to do that," he said. "You might want it some day. No; I think I can manage. Hold up that end, Jock."
Findlay did so. Desmond held up the other end, so that both ends were an equal height from the ground on which the remainder of the hose was resting.
Woodleigh was then directed to pour paraffin into the pipe until it was quite full. Both ends were then nipped tightly so that none of the oil could escape. Then Jock thrust the end he was holding into theOlivette'sfuel tank, while Desmond, quickly releasingthe pressure, jammed the other end of the hose into the barrel.
Save for a faint quivering of the pipe there were no signs of anything happening. Woodleigh looked inquiringly at the demonstrator.
"It's running all right," declared Desmond confidently. "You just look at the gauge."
"Well I'm blessed!" exclaimed Woodleigh. "You're right. It does save a lot of time, and there's no waste to speak of."
"We showed some fellows how to do it when we were at Canvey," said Desmond. "The next time they tried it was high tide—a very high tide—and the motor-boat's tank instead of being filled was emptied of the little already there. Why? Because the tank was at a higher level than the barrel, and the paraffin was siphoned in exactly the opposite direction to which the crew wanted it to go— Look out, the tank's full!"
It had taken exactly ten minutes. The operation of filling up buckets and pouring the oil through a funnel usually occupied the best part of an hour; but when the "ration party" returned, hot and heavily laden, they found the "paraffin merchants" having a long spell of "stand easy".
"Lazy blighters!" exclaimed Rayburn. "You've been slacking. You'd better hurry up before Mr. Armitage gets back."
"We're not going to do another stroke until he returns," declared Woodleigh composedly. "We're going to spin yarns. If you want to be particularly energetic you can fetch a barrel of paraffin from the store."
Rayburn didn't think he would—and said so. Instead—he began to stow the provisions on board, wondering why his usually energetic Patrol Leader was "hanging on to the slack", and what excuse he would make when the Scoutmaster returned.
When at length the two Scoutmasters arrived, Rayburn was considerably surprised to hear Woodleigh report: "All correct, sir", and Mr. Armitage was interested to hear how the operation of filling up the tank was performed.
"It's never too late to learn," he remarked; "especially as far as boats are concerned."
"Now, you fellows, avast yarning," cautioned Scoutmaster Armitage. "You'll all be as limp as rags when it comes to turning out to-morrow."
The buzz of voices from the crowded fo'c'sle ceased. Ten boys, packed, like sardines in a triangular compartment twenty feet by ten, had had considerable difficulty in turning in. Each of the iron cots on either side had its blanketed occupant; two Sea Scouts were lying on the floor. It was "sleeping rough" with a vengeance; but, as these conditions were "for this night only", the youngsters made the best of things and rather enjoyed the situation.
"I hope your cot-lashing's strong enough," said Desmond drowsily, addressing Woodleigh, whose hefty person was barely a couple of feet above the speaker. "If that carries away you'll flatten me out, old son."
"It's all right," rejoined Woodleigh with a yawn. "Night-night, old thing."
In less than a minute Woodleigh was asleep, his example being quickly followed by the rest of theOlivette'screw. But not so the three supernumeraries.In strange surroundings they could not help keeping awake.
"What's that noise, Desmond?" whispered Hayes. "It sounds like water pouring in. Is she leaking, do you think?"
"No," replied the Patrol Leader. "It's the tide rippling past the boat's side."
Five minutes later Hayes declared that there was another weird noise.
"Mooring chain rubbing against the boat's forefoot," explained Desmond. "For goodness' sake don't keep on chattering. I want to get to sleep."
"It's not that I mean," persisted the lad. "There's a sort of gnawing sound. Can't you hear it?"
"Rats!" ejaculated the Patrol Leader.
Hayes kept silent for a considerable time. He was not altogether sure about the sense in which Desmond had used the word "Rats". He might have meant it as a deprecatory ejaculation. He hoped that he had, because he was afraid of rodents. It was a fear that he had never yet been able to conquer, although in other respects he was a plucky little youngster.
The gnawing sound began again. Hayes, who was sleeping, or rather lying on the floor on top of a number of blankets, realized the possibility of the rat gnawing a hole through the panelling of the fo'c'sle. In that case he being on the floor would be the one to be favoured with the brute's attention.
Doubling his fist Hayes tried to thump the floor in the hope of scaring the rat. Unfortunately he forgot that theOlivette'stenderfoot, little Willis, was occupying a made-up bed close to him. So instead of smiting the board Hayes dealt his opposite number a hefty whack in the ribs.
"What's that for?" demanded the astonished Willis, only half awake in spite of the blow.
"Rats," whispered Hayes hoarsely.
"Silly owl!" retorted Willis. "If you are trying to be funny——"
"I'm not," interposed the other seriously. "There are rats on board. Sorry, I didn't mean to biff you. I was trying to scare them away. Listen."
Both lads listened. Beyond the occasional rasp of the mooring-chain and the steady ripple of the wavelets there was silence.
"You've scared it," said Willis at length. "We get a rat on board occasionally—when we are lying alongside a quay. It's nothing to make a song about. You'll soon get used to it. It's in the bilges if it's anywhere. No chance of getting in here. 'Sides, the poor blighter would be scared stiff."
The last sentence trailed off almost into an incoherent whisper. Willis was asleep again.
Hayes lay awake listening for quite another half-hour; then, dimly conscious once or twice that the intermittent gnawing was going on, he too fell into a deep sleep.
Suddenly the silence of the confined space was rent by a frenzied yell, followed by a heavy double crash. In an instant every Sea Scout was awake, and a scene of utter confusion followed as the lads barged into each other and tripped over the writhing bodies of their comrades on the floor.
Roused by the uproar the two Scoutmasters hastened from the after-cabin, Mr. Armitage going through the engine-room and by the sliding door leading to the fo'c'sle, while Mr. Graham gained the deck, went for'ard, and reached the hatchway to the Sea Scouts' sleeping quarters.
Simultaneously both Scoutmasters flashed their electric torches upon the scene.
"Pull yourselves together, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage firmly, although he was quite at a loss to account for the chaotic state of the fo'c'sle. "Patrol, alert!"
The order had the desired effect. The Scouts' equivalent to the military "'Shun" was obeyed with an alacrity that would have earned the approbation of the strictest regimental sergeant-major. Promptly the lads "sorted themselves out" and stood still, blinking solemnly at the dazzling cross-rays of the two Scoutmasters' torches.
"Tell me what you know of this business, Woodleigh," continued Mr. Armitage, addressing the Patrol Leader.
"I hardly know anything, sir," replied Woodleigh, conscious of a steadily rising bump on his forehead and a pair of barked elbows. "Something disturbed me. I sat up and barged my head on the deck-beam. Then my hammock gave way and I cannoned off Desmond on top of somebody else."
"It was my fault, sir," declared Desmond. "Some of us were talking about rats before I went to sleep, and I must have dreamt that a rat was nibbling my toe. I remember sitting up and shouting out and bumping the under side of Woodleigh's cot with my head. Then Woodleigh's cot-lashings carried away, and he rolled out on top of me."
"I should hardly have expected to find that you were subject to silly nightmares, Desmond," observed Mr. Graham, who was beginning to shiver in the night air as he hung over the open fore-hatch.
"I don't think it was a nightmare, sir," protested Desmond. "A rat bit me."
In support of this assertion he held up a bare foot. There was blood oozing from a double puncture on the big toe.
Mr. Armitage examined the injury.
"You've knocked your toe against something, my boy," he said. "A nail perhaps. Wash your foot in lysol and fresh water and put some lint to it."
He glanced at his wristlet watch. It was half-past three.
"I don't suppose you fellows will get to sleep again," he remarked briskly; "so get dressed and have something to eat. We'll make a start and get under way as soon as possible. Come on, Graham, it's a bit draughty up there, and you look shivery. Let's get dressed."
The two Scoutmasters returned to the after-cabin.
"That lad Desmond wasn't dreaming, Graham," remarked Mr. Armitage quietly. "I didn't want to alarm him, but it was a bite right enough. We'll have to smoke that rat out as soon as it gets light enough."
Desmond's assertion was not lacking in supporting evidence. A few days previously Flemming had invested in a pair of shoes, and, having walked a good distance in them, had galled one of his heels. To relieve the sting and to soften the tough leather Flemming had rubbed Russian tallow on the heel of his stocking.
Tallow being a delicacy to which rats are particularly addicted, it was not so very surprising to learn that the rodent, who had taken up his temporary abode on board theOlivette, had been attracted by Flemming's sock. Not only had the tallow disappeared but four square inches of wool had gone the same way.
Then Hayes discovered a gnawed hole in his haversack, and Woodleigh noted with considerable misgivings that one of his shoes looked a bit ragged. Mr. Rat had been quite impartial in his attentions,and had he not nibbled Desmond's toe he might have taken toll from every Sea Scout on board.
While breakfast was being prepared Findlay engaged upon a tracking stunt in the fo'c'sle. It did not take him long to find the rat's mode of entering. There was a hole through the side of one of the lockers, the ragged edges bearing testimony to the sharpness of the animal's teeth. From the for'ard partition of the locker another hole communicated with the chain-locker. Here the trail ended. It was impossible for the rat to have got into the chain-locker through the narrow metal-bound aperture that allowed the "ranged" cable to run out. The only explanation of the rat's method of getting into the locker was that at some recent time the lid must have been left open.
The next step was to find out the rodent's hiding-place. There was no other hole between the fo'c'sle and the engine-room. All the lockers were examined. The floor fitted too well to allow the animal to find a refuge in the bilges.
"I don't think we need try smoking the rat out," decided Mr. Armitage. "The only feasible conclusion we can come to is that the brute made its escape through the open scuttle. In all probability the rat has rejoined his brothers and sisters in a hole under the piles of the quay, and is regaling them with a story of wondrous adventures with the Sea Scouts of theOlivette."
At the first streak of dawn theOlivetteslipped her moorings and made for the open sea. It was an ideal daybreak. Not a ripple disturbed the slate-grey surface of the water, save the even wake caused by the steadily moving boat. The sky was grey; the dawn was grey. Even the verdant hills of the Isle of Wight looked grey where they were faintly visible through the light mist.
"It's going to be a scorching hot day," declared Woodleigh.
"Fine weather," added Flemming. "The glass is high and steady."
"I hope it will be rough," said Hayes.
"You'll be sorry for yourself if it is," said Woodleigh. "Take my tip and be thankful it is fine. Rough weather is all very fine if you've a sound boat and a sheltered harbour close under your lee. The fellow who puts to sea because it looks like being rough is simply asking for trouble. If you're obliged to that's a different matter."
"But isn't theOlivettea sound boat? And has she ever been out in a storm?" asked Hayes.
"Of course she's a sound boat," declared the Patrol Leader stoutly. "Yes, we've been out in a storm. The starboard window of the wheelhouse—thick plate-glass—was stove in by a wave. We got into port with about a foot of water over the engine-room floor. Yes, I've had some and I'm not asking for any more, thank you."
By this time theOlivettehad ported helm and was passing through Hurst Race. Although there was no wind the rush of the west-going tide was very much in evidence. Irregular, crested waves were rearing their heads menacingly within a well-defined area. Everywhere else the sea was as smooth as a mill-pond. "North Channel, Woodleigh?" asked Rayburn, who was at the wheel.
"No, Needles Channel," was the reply. "It will give the others a chance of seeing the western end of The Wight. Close that window, old son, or we'll be getting wet shirts."
"What causes the Race?" asked Jock Findlay.
"Strong tide over uneven ground," explained Woodleigh. "Just here is a deep hole, nearly two hundred feet. It's the greatest depth between the Isle of Wight and the mainland, although this is the shortest distance between. The tide has to tumble through the neck of a bottle, as it were, and in the process it gets a bit angry."
Totland Bay was soon abeam, then the SouthendSea Scouts feasted their eyes upon the multi-coloured cliffs of Alum Bay, until their attention was attracted by the Needles and the outlying lighthouse, backed by the towering cliffs of glistening chalk that form the western extremity of the Isle of Wight.
Clear of the Bridge a course was shaped to pass four miles south of Portland Bill. This meant being a considerable distance from the picturesque Dorset coast between Old Harry and The Bill; but, as Mr. Armitage remarked, time was an object, and, if theOlivettewere to make Plymouth the same day, she could not afford to skirt the coastline simply with the idea of giving the guests an opportunity to enjoy the scenery.
Still carrying her tide theOlivettemade good progress. Early in the forenoon a light easterly breeze sprang up, but since the speed of the boat was about equal to that of the wind there was no tempering coolness to be derived from it. The only apparent result was to throw up a long, low swell that made theOlivetteroll considerably.
"There's Portland Race, lads," announced Mr. Armitage, pointing to a dark-coloured patch of water on the starboard beam and to the south'ard of the wedge-shaped Bill. "It's one of the worst parts off the South Coast."
"Have you ever been through it, sir?" asked Hayes.
"No; and I don't want to, thank you," was thereply. "I've been inside it, which is quite a different matter. When you fellows bring theSpindriftup-Channel I'd advise you to keep outside it. Inside is all right if you work your tides, but in this district of topsy-turvydom in the matter of tides there's an important thing to remember about Portland Bill. For nine hours out of twelve the current sets south'ard on both sides of the Bill, so that, if you were in a sailing craft and were unable to stem the tide, you would be swept into the Race itself."
"And what would happen, sir, if a boat did get carried into it?" persisted Hayes.
"Swamped," replied the Scoutmaster laconically.
"So don't try it, Hayes," added Mr. Graham.
"I believe I can hear the Race," declared Findlay.
"Yes," agreed Woodleigh, "you can. We've heard it miles away on a calm night. It's not a pleasant sound."
Half an hour later theOlivetteentered West Bay. This expanse of water was living up to its reputation as a bay of calms—except when it is rough. Like the little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead:
"When it is goodIt is very, very good;But when it is badIt is horrid."
The breeze had died away, and the water was an almost boundless expanse of gentle rollers. The Billwas almost lost in the haze, the high ground behind Lyme Regis and Bridport was entirely hidden in the warm, misty atmosphere. A large yawl bound west was lying becalmed, her white sails shaking from the yards as she wallowed in the swell. Her crew were lying unconcernedly on the deck and hardly noticed theOlivette; but her owner, seated in a deck-chair aft, raised his glasses and kept the Sea Scouts under observation.
"Bet he's a bit sick that he hasn't a motor," remarked Hayes.
"Don't crow," exclaimed Desmond. "This isn't our boat. We may be in the same plight when we bring theSpindriftacross West Bay."
Half an hour later the yawl was hull down, her idle canvas showing faintly against the blue sky.
"I say," suddenly exclaimed Jock Findlay. "That's a long way from shore for a small boat, isn't it?"
He pointed to a rowing boat about half a mile on theOlivette'sport bow.
"It's a dinghy with a man in her," reported Woodleigh. "He's not rowing. He may be fishing, but I hardly think so. Shall we run alongside, sir?"
"Yes, do," replied Mr. Armitage. "If he's all right there's no harm done. If he's in difficulties we may be able to do him a good turn."
"Starboard ten," ordered the Milford Patrol Leader, addressing Flemming, who was at the wheel.
TheOlivettewas now heading straight for the drifting boat. The solitary occupier seemed utterly unaware of the motor-boat's approach, but sat on the stroke thwart, nursing his head.
"Perhaps he's deaf, sir," hazarded Findlay.
"No, sea-sick," rejoined Mr. Graham, handing Jock his binoculars. "His face is green—absolutely. A tripper adrift most likely."
"Ahoy!" shouted Woodleigh, holding up a coil of rope. "Do you want a tow?"
The fellow raised his head and gazed pathetically at theOlivette. He gave no sign that he was at all anxious to be aided.
"Why, he's only a boy," declared Findlay.
"A pretty hefty one," supplemented Desmond.
"What shall we do, sir?" asked Woodleigh.
"Get him on board and take the boat in tow," replied Mr. Armitage. "Stand by one of you to grab her painter."
TheOlivette'sclutch was put into control, and, under Flemming's practised helmsmanship, the motor-boat ranged up alongside the unmanageable dinghy. Desmond, leaning over the side, grasped the painter and took a turn round the starboard bollard for'ard, while Rayburn hooked the stern as the dinghy swung in towards the high side of theOlivette.
"Come on board," exclaimed Mr. Armitage authoritatively. "You'll soon be all right."
The boy attempted to obey, but lurched awkwardly as if he had no control of the limbs. Two of the Sea Scouts leapt into the dinghy, and literally hauled its occupant on board the boat.
"Take him down below out of the sun," said Mr. Armitage. "He may have a touch of sunstroke. If it's only sea-sickness, give him a piece of lemon to chew. All right, Desmond, pass the painter aft."
TheOlivetteregathered way, the dinghy riding comfortably astern, with her bows high out of the water. On her backboard were the words: "Gregory—Abbotsbury".
"He's a bit out of his reckoning," observed Mr. Armitage. "Abbotsbury is a good fifteen miles to the nor'ard. He'd never be able to row back that distance."
"What do you propose to do with him?" inquired Mr. Graham.
"Put into Brixham and land him, I expect," replied Mr. Armitage. "We can't put back to Abbotsbury very well. For one thing, it's well out of our course and there's no harbour. We might find if we went there that there'd be too much swell to effect a landing, and we would then have to carry on into Lyme Regis or Bridport—both inaccessible at low water. I'll find out more about the youth, and see what he wants to do. Come along, Graham. We may hear an interesting story."
The two Scoutmasters found the rescued youth sitting up on one of the fo'c'sle cots. Apparently the slice of lemon had had the desired effect, for his face had lost the greenish hue and looked well sunburned. He was talking to Desmond and Rayburn, asking them numerous questions concerning theOlivetteand her crew.
"Well, my lad," began Mr. Armitage briskly, "let's have your story. How came you so far out to sea?"
"Got lost in a fog, sir."
Mr. Armitage made no comment. It had been a hit hazy on the Solent that morning, so it was quite possible that West Bay was enveloped in mist.
"What's your name?"
"Gregory, sir."
"Is that your boat, then?"
There was a brief pause.
"My father's, sir."
"He'll be a bit anxious about you."
"Yes, sir."
"In that case we'll land you at Brixham."
"Plymouth'll do me, sir. I've got an uncle living there. He's a smacksman, so he could tow the boat back to Abbotsbury."
Mr. Armitage left it at that, but he decided to signal Prawle Point and report the finding of the boat.
"What sort of a fellow is he?" he inquired of Desmond, after the latter had come on deck.
"I hardly know what to make of him, sir," replied the Patrol Leader. "He doesn't seem to know much about the sea, which is a bit strange since his father is a fisherman. He seems rather anxious to know if we are putting in anywhere before we get to Plymouth."
"The only seafaring things about him are his clothes," remarked Mr. Graham. "He doesn't talk with a South Coast accent. I suppose——"
"Suppose what, Graham?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"Perhaps I had better not say," rejoined Mr. Graham. "I hate having to be suspicious about anybody, but there are certain points about the lad that look a bit fishy."
"'Fishy' is a natural characteristic of a fisherman's son, I take it," rejoined Mr. Armitage, with a laugh.
"Not in that sense. Suppose we have the fellow on deck. He seems fit enough now. Give him a few simple jobs and see how he shapes."
In response to a message—delivered by Rayburn—Gregory came on deck.
"You'll have to earn your passage, my lad," said Mr. Armitage. "My boys are about to scrub down decks. You might give them a hand. How about coiling that rope away?"
The Scoutmaster pointed to a hawser-laid rope lying just abaft the mast.
Gregory went for'ard, lurching with the movement of the boat. Then he began coiling away, strugglingwith the stubborn rope until he literally tied it up in knots.
"Tough bit o' stuff, this," he remarked, regarding his efforts with evident mistrust.
"It is," agreed Mr. Armitage. "All right. You can steer, I suppose? Take on from Flemming. He'll give you the course."
Gregory made for the wheelhouse. The two Scoutmasters exchanged knowing glances. Test Number One had failed, as far as the fisherman's son was concerned. Every seafarer knows that a hawser-laid rope is coiled "with the sun". Gregory had reversed the process with the result that every coil had kinked badly.
Soon it became evident that the lad's helmsmanship was no better than his skill at curling down a rope. Judging by the zig-zag wake the wheel was giving him plenty of trouble, although after a bit, thanks to Flemming's assistance, Gregory made a better show than he had previously done.
Nevertheless, both Mr. Graham and Mr. Armitage were now agreed that the sea-sick youth, picked up from the dinghy, was certainly not connected with the sea. Who and what was he, then?
A sudden jar that shook theOlivettefrom stem to stern promptly dislocated the trend of the two Scoutmasters' surmises. For thirty seconds or more the motors laboured heavily, until Warkworth, who was taking his trick in the engine-room, declutched and cut off the ignition.
The Sea Scouts on deck gave inquiring glances at Mr. Armitage; but, true to his principles of letting the lads act on their own initiative, he gave no solution for the cause of the mishap or any suggestion as to what ought to be done.
Presently Woodleigh grasped the reason for his Scoutmaster's silence. It was "up to" the Patrol Leader to act.
"Motor all right, Warkworth?" he inquired.
"Yes," was the reply. "I switched off because I fancy something's fouled the propeller. Send somebody down, and we'll try to turn the shaft round by hand."
Desmond volunteered to assist Warkworth. Theremovable floor-boards over the shaft were taken up, and both lads, by means of pipe wrenches, tried their hardest to turn the massive metal rod, which in ordinary circumstances could be moved with very little effort.
"Prop's foul of something," announced Warkworth.
Woodleigh and most of the Sea Scouts on deck were aft. By this time theOlivettehad lost way and was rounding-to broadside on to the now slight breeze. Lying at full length, and leaning over the short counter, the Patrol Leader could discern the three-bladed propeller, its boss a couple of feet beneath the surface.
"There's rope wound round it," he declared, "about half a dozen turns. Get a boat-hook, somebody; I think I can get it off."
Hayes brought the desired article. With a couple of fellows holding on to his legs the Patrol Leader tried for a full five minutes, until, red in the face and cramped in body and limbs, he desisted from his unsuccessful attempt.
"The stuff's as hard as a chunk of iron," he announced. "I'll get Warkworth to start up again and put the gear into the reverse. That might throw the rope clear. Stand by with that dinghy's painter: we don't want that fouled as well."
The motor being warm it did not take long to restart even on paraffin. Then Warkworth let in the clutch in the reverse, and, although the engine didnot labour quite so much, the desired result was not attained. An examination of the propeller, after the motor had been running for a couple of minutes, revealed the disconcerting fact that the rope was still wound tightly round the boss. In the ahead position the undue strain on the shaft almost pulled the engine up dead.
"I suppose the only thing to be done is to set a square-sail and make either for Torquay or Brixham," remarked Woodleigh. "We're bound to get a tow in, and at low tide we can cut the rope away."
"Then we won't make Plymouth to-day," added Flemming.
"Let me have a cut at it, Woodleigh," said Jock Findlay quietly.
"How?" asked the Patrol Leader.
"By diving for it," replied Jock.
Findlay was the champion diver of the 9th Southend Troop of Sea Scouts. Only a few weeks previously he had carried off first prize in a plate-diving competition in fifteen feet of water. One rival came to the surface with twelve tin plates. Another brought up sixteen. When Findlay reappeared after he dived he held eight plates in his hand; and while the onlookers, who regarded Jock as the favourite, were showing their surprise at the small number Findlay had handed over, the wily Sea Scout produced another twelve from the inside of his bathing-dress.
"Can you?" queried the doubting Woodleigh. "You'll be knocked out if the counter gives you a crack. The boat's rolling a bit."
"I'll risk that," rejoined Findlay, who was already divesting himself of his clothing.
"Will that lad be all right, do you think?" asked Mr. Armitage in an aside.
"Quite," replied Mr. Graham, with firm conviction. "He's like a young eel in the water."
"All my lads are good swimmers," observed Mr. Armitage, "but curiously enough they are indifferent divers. Woodleigh, for instance, always shuts his eyes when diving. He says he cannot open them while under water. It's pure fallacy, although I know plenty of people who say the same thing."
Meanwhile Findlay, looking like a young Apollo, was whetting his knife on the palm of his hand.
"No chance of that propeller revolving?" he inquired.
"Motor's stopped," replied Woodleigh. "You'll be all right as far as that is concerned; but for goodness' sake mind you don't get a biff on the head."
Jock made a clean, graceful dive over the counter, and, reappearing almost at once, swam towards the stern. Awaiting his opportunity he grasped the upper edge of the rudder and drew himself beneath the surface.
For thirty long-drawn-out seconds Findlay remainedsubmerged; then he reappeared about a couple of yards from the boat.