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[Illustration: BOTH MEN TUMBLED ON THE CABIN-TOPPage145.]
[Illustration: BOTH MEN TUMBLED ON THE CABIN-TOPPage145.]
As he did so the weather-arm of the cross-trees gave way under his weight. So quickly did the metal-work give, that Truscott had only time to grip the topmast shroud as he fell. His grasp was sufficient to check his downward path, but the wire shroud cut deeply into his hands. He had to let go.
Wilde, seeing his companion's predicament, pluckily broke his fall. Both men tumbled in a confused heap upon the raised cabin-top, fortunately on the wind'ard side, or both might have been thrown into the sea.
Lashing the helm, Desmond hastened to their assistance. He stubbed his already injured toe upon a cleat as he did so, but in the excitement of the moment he hardly noticed that the wound had reopened.
Both men had to be assisted into the cockpit, for they were shaken by the concussion. In addition, both of Truscott's hands were lacerated across the palms, while Wilde had sustained an injury that Desmond correctly diagnosed as a broken collar-bone. It was pretty obvious to the Patrol Leader that he was the only capable hand left on board, and that upon him would devolve the management of the ship.
Desmond's first step was to haul the headsail sheets to wind'ard. Fortunately theSpankerwas an admirable craft when hove-to. She was now as steady as she could possibly be, forging ahead at less than one knot.
"I'm all right," protested Truscott. "There's a tar-pot and some waste up for'ard. Nothing like a flick of tar to stop bleeding."
Desmond did not view these rough and ready methods of first-aid with anything like approval. Tar, in itself an excellent disinfectant, was hardly suitable for a deep wound in which, more than likely, fragments of rusty wire were embedded.
"I've a first-aid outfit in my kit," he announced, "if you don't mind washing your hands, while I see what I can do for your chum."
"Good lad!" exclaimed Truscott approvingly.
The Patrol Leader fetched his outfit from the fo'c'sle and proceeded to attend to Wilde's injuries. This done, he carefully bandaged Truscott's cuts with boric lint, and not until both men were fixed up as comfortably as possible did Desmond re-dress his own injuries.
"Hadn't we better put back?" he inquired. "I can take the yacht into Bude, but I don't know the Bristol Channel."
Somewhat to Desmond's surprise, Truscott, "who wasn't going to put back for anything or anybody" according to his own words a couple of hours ago, offered no objection. His views of Sea Scouts, and this one in particular, had undergone a rapid change. He knew that Desmond's plan was a sound one. It was a hazardous task for a youth practically single-handed to sail theSpankeralmost dead to wind'ard for a matterof fifty or sixty miles of strange waters, when Bude lay an easy distance dead to lee'ard.
"Carry on," he replied. "Can you get her about? Don't gybe her."
Desmond had no intention of gybing. Casting loose the tiller, and trimming the headsail sheets to lee'ard, he soon got way on the vessel. Then, putting her helm down, he "went about" and steered for the now invisible Cornish coast.
Three hours later, for the wind had dropped considerably, the land loomed up. It was unfamiliar ground. Hartland Point, which Desmond had noticed on the outward passage, was nowhere to be seen. Right ahead was a bold promontory crowned with a few scanty ruins.
He called Truscott from the cabin.
"What's that point, sir?" he asked.
Truscott gave a low whistle.
"You're a little out of your course, my lad," he declared. "That's Tintagel. Bude is twelve miles to the nor'-east'ard. Bring her close to the wind. We may fetch it without tacking, but I'm doubtful."
It was Desmond's lack of navigation that had been responsible for the error. Simply reversing the compass course for the return run was not enough. He had omitted to take into consideration the strong tide running to the sou'-west, with the result that the yacht had made her landfall a dozen miles to lee'ard of her destination.
"Live and learn," thought Desmond philosophically. "I'll know better next time."
TheSpankerwas now close-hauled on the port tack, and, although she was able to lay on her course, the wind had fallen so light that she was hardly able to stem the adverse tide.
"It doesn't very much matter, my lad," remarked Truscott. "You wouldn't have been able to get theSpankerinto harbour until close on high-water. Better keep on sailing than lying at anchor in a ground-swell."
"That's all very well," added Wilde, "but how about my collar-bone?"
"I've not forgotten it, nor my hands either," rejoined his chum, with a faint show of asperity. "My head's aching like anything."
"So's mine," said Wilde, "so you've nothing to make a song about."
Desmond heard, but said nothing. It seemed strange to him that two chums should start wrangling on board a small craft. But a few minutes later amicable relations were resumed as suddenly as they had been interrupted.
At six o'clock the yacht was hove-to once more, while the handy Sea Scout prepared and served a meal. Shortly after, the tide turned, and theSpankermade better progress, although the breeze was paltry and inclined to be fluky. Nine o'clock found her off Compass Point, the southern boundary of Bude Haven, andDesmond had another experience: that of waiting for enough water to make the entrance.
At last, with centre-plate up, theSpankerran in. Fortunately for Desmond the wind was very light. Wilde, with his uninjured arm, held the tiller, while the Sea Scout lowered first mainsail, then mizzen, jib, and finally the staysail.
Gradually losing way, the ketch was brought alongside the stone wall outside the lock and made fast. In the fading twilight Desmond was delighted and surprised to recognize Mr. Graham's voice.
"Thank Heaven I've found you!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster gratefully. "What have you been doing, Desmond?"
It was Truscott, erstwhile scoffer of Sea Scouts, who replied:
"Doing a rattling good turn, sir. We'd have been tied up in knots if it hadn't been for Patrol Leader Desmond."
It was midnight before the crew of theSpindriftturned in, but for once the regulation for "lights out" at ten was waived. Findlay and Hayes had to be told a detailed account of Desmond's adventure; while Desmond had to hear the story of the fruitless search for the missing Patrol Leader. The belated supper was a protracted affair, and yarning seemed to be going on indefinitely, until the Scoutmaster reminded his youthful crew that, all being well, the homeward voyage was to be commenced within the next twelve hours.
All hands were up and about by eight the next morning. There was still much to be done, overhauling gear, taking in provisions, and making all snug. After breakfast they paid a visit to theSpanker. Truscott and Wilde had both received medical attention, and the doctor had inquired who had dressed their injuries.
"He said it was a splendid job," declared Truscott. "They call sailors 'handy men', but, by Jove! I think Sea Scouts run them pretty close."
"When are you putting to sea again?" asked Mr. Graham.
"We don't know exactly," was the reply. "We've got to get fit, and we've sent for some chums of ours to give us a hand with the yacht. Fortunately, we are not tied to time."
"Let's hope you'll have better luck for your next venture," observed the Scoutmaster.
"We might have had a jolly sight worse luck than we did," rejoined Wilde, "if it hadn't been for Desmond. The average lad would have been scared stiff if he'd found himself on a strange yacht in the Bristol Channel with a couple of crocked-up blighters like us."
"Hurry up, if you want to pass through the lock!" shouted a peremptory voice.
The Sea Scouts brought their visit to a hasty termination. Scoutmaster and Scouts ran back to theSpindrift, the ropes were cast off, and the ketch tracked along the bank and through the wide open gates.
"Good luck!" shouted the crew of theSpankeras theSpindriftglided past.
"Jump aboard, lads!" ordered Mr. Graham.
Findlay and Hayes, who had been tracking the ketch to the gates, leapt upon her deck. Desmond was at the helm, while the Scoutmaster directed the setting of the canvas.
"Up staysail and mizzen first, lads!" he ordered. Slowly theSpindriftforged ahead, aided by the lightsouth-easterly breeze. Not until mainsail and jib were set did she heel slightly to the wind, and the water began to ripple and gurgle as her stem cut its way seaward.
"Isn't this fine, sir!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader. "She's carrying just a little weather-helm. She's as stiff as a house."
"Let's hope she'll prove so in a hard blow," rejoined Mr. Graham, as he unfolded a chart and spread it upon the cabin top.
"Where are we making for to-day, sir?" asked Desmond.
"Only to Padstow," was the reply. "I want to test theSpindrift'scapabilities before we undertake a long run. This coast isn't like the Essex shore. There aren't harbours every few miles. Keep her on Carnbeak, Desmond. That's the point right ahead—but I suppose you know that already."
"Do I not, sir!" said the Patrol Leader with a laugh. "I thought yesterday that we'd never pass it. The tides do run hot on this coast."
It was a pleasant, almost uneventful sail. Mr. Graham exercised the crew, getting them to go-about, gybe, heave-to, and shoot the yacht up into the wind in order to pick up the lifebuoy, which he threw overboard without warning—to practice "man overboard!" evolutions.
People ashore must have speculated on the causeof theSpindrift'santics; but there was method in the Scoutmaster's madness. It was all very well to put to sea under ideal conditions and to be unprepared for eventualities. Mr. Graham meant to make his crew capable of "knocking down a couple of reefs", and, until they could do this smartly and without unnecessary fuss, he kept them at it.
By the time theSpindriftwas abreast of Carnbeak the Scoutmaster announced his satisfaction at the way the crew had carried out their task. Already they had "got the hang of things". They knew where each sheet and halliard was belayed, so that there would be no confusion when it came to shortening or stowing sail. Each lad took his trick at the helm, so as to get accustomed to the pull of the tiller and the amount of helm necessary to put the yacht about without causing her to miss stays and get in irons, for theSpindrift'slong keel and pronounced forefoot made her rather slow in going about.
There was no need to hasten. The day was long, the run short. So theSpindrifthugged the shore as closely as possible without danger of hitting any of the numerous outlying rocks. She edged inside Meachard in order to give her crew a peep at the miniature Boscastle Harbour; Tintagel Head and Castle were viewed from seaward, the legendary fortress of King Arthur affording the crew a source of deep interest. Then, skirting Trebarwith sands, the yacht brought up inPort Isaac while the crew had a meal on deck, satisfying the inner man while their eyes feasted upon the picturesque aspect of the little Cornish fishing village.
Six o'clock found theSpindriftoff Pentire Point with the whole of Padstow Bay opened out.
"We'll be anchored by half-past six," observed Hayes the optimist.
But alas for that conjecture! He had reckoned without the baffling entrance to Padstow, where, if the wind be light outside, it is necessary to depend upon either power or oars to make the intricate channel; while, if there is a strong, commanding breeze, the breakers on the dreaded Doombar render the approach to Padstow unsafe.
All went well with the ketchSpindriftand her crew until she was abreast of Stepper Point on the starboard hand. Then the sails began to shake. Gradually she lost way until the coast no longer appeared to glide by.
"Timber topsails, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Graham cheerfully. "A little work with the sweeps won't do us any harm."
Bidding Desmond keep his weather eye lifting for puffs that might sweep down over the cliff, the Scoutmaster took one oar while Findlay manned the other. It was hot, tiring work. Progress was slow, and although, after half an hour's unremitting toil, theSpindriftwas a mile inside Stepper Point, the anchorage off Padstow seemed as far off as ever.
"I wish we had a motor," said Findlay, breathlessly, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"Well, we haven't," rejoined Hayes, "and we aren't likely to have one yet awhile. We're jolly lucky to get the yacht as she is."
"Then come and do a bit with the sweeps," was Findlay's pointed invitation.
Before Hayes could "take on", Desmond exclaimed:
"Stand by! There's a breeze ahead!"
The next instant theSpindriftheeled to a free puff. Gathering way she quickly glided up the channel, rounding to and dropping anchor within half a cable's length of Padstow Quay.
After everything was made snug, the dinghy was manned and the three Sea Scouts set out for the shore, Mr. Graham volunteering to keep anchor-watch in their absence.
Close to theSpindriftwas a "sixteen-footer", in the stern sheets of which knelt a very red-faced man, struggling with a refractory outboard engine. Through sheer exhaustion he desisted as the Sea Scout's dinghy passed.
"Say, you lads," he exclaimed breathlessly. "Do you ever use strong language? If you don't, you would if you had this brute of a pig to deal with."
"What's wrong, sir?" asked Desmond, signing to his chums to lay on their oars.
"What's wrong?—everything," declared the exasperated man. "I bought this diabolical contraption ten days ago. Unpacked it—shoved it into a bath and started it up. First swing of the fly-wheel she fired—the wallpaper isn't dry yet, and my cat got a stream smack in her face. I haven't seen her from that day to this. Took the engine on board next day and tried again. Fire she wouldn't. Did every mortal trick I knew to get her to go—I've had twelve years experience with internal combustion engines. All that day I struggled with her; then I wrote off to the makers. They replied they'd send an expert down if I'd pay expenses."
He broke off his narrative to give a couple of vicious tugs at the fly-wheel. The motor remained silent and vibrationless.
"It does me good to get it off my chest," he continued breathlessly. "You lads interested?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply.
"Well, I made the makers a sporting offer. 'Send the expert down,' said I, 'and if he gets the brute to go within half an hour I'll pay. If he doesn't, you jolly well pay all expenses.' They agreed, and next day the expert comes over from Plymouth. 'Now then, my dear sir,' said I, 'get on with it.' Get on with it he did. He fiddled about for less than a minute, gave onepull at the fly-wheel and off she went like a Maxim gun. 'There you are,' he exclaimed. 'Give her sufficient petrol and I'll guarantee her to keep going for twenty-four hours.' That did me. I paid him up and back to Plymouth he went. Next morning I came on board to start her up. That was as far as it got. From that day to this I haven't got as much as a kick out of her—the obstinate mule!"
He took out the plug, "doped" it with petrol, and replaced it. Half a dozen swings produced no desired result.
"Close on forty pounds she cost me!" he exclaimed. "I've a jolly good mind to heave the blessed thing overboard."
"I wouldn't do that, sir," said Findlay.
The man gave him a swift glance. He was one of those easy-going moneyed men who act upon impulse.
The forty pounds was little or nothing to him. The motor, having aroused his resentment, was of no value in his eyes.
"Then I won't," he replied with a laugh. "Where are you from?"
Desmond told him.
"Look here," continued the internal combustion engine expert, "I'll make you a sporting offer. Take the bundle of scrap iron on board your boat and tinker about with it. I've done with the beastly thing. Ifyou can make it go within the next hour you can have it for a fiver."
"I haven't anything like that amount," declared the Patrol Leader.
"Does that offer hold good as far as I am concerned, Sadler?" called out Mr. Graham. In the calm air he had heard every word of the conversation.
"By Jove! Graham, old son!" almost shouted the jaded victim of the outboard motor. "How on earth did you come to this part of the world? Here, you fellows, help me to unship the infernal contraption and take me aboard your craft."
The engine was unclamped from the transom and dumped on board theSpindrift'sdinghy. Into her jumped Mr. Sadler, and the Sea Scouts rowed back to theSpindrift.
"Now we'll have a long kag about the good old times in the Harwich Patrol, Graham," exclaimed Sadler, gripping the Scoutmaster's hand. "Let your youngsters carry on with that rotten infernal machine. To see your familiar old figure-head again more than compensates me for hours of toil with that low-down motor. Now, then; fire away and tell me all the news about yourself."
While the two ex-R.N.V.R. men were exchanging reminiscences the three Sea Scouts took the motor for'ard. Findlay directed operations. He had a fairly sound knowledge of motor-bicycles, and the principlesof an air-cooled engine varied very slightly from the two-stroke outboard motor that had completely baffled Mr. Sadler.
Findlay's first step was to clean the magneto. There were distinct evidences of moisture in the "make-and-break". Testing the plug on the cylinder he obtained a very healthy spark, but, when the plug was screwed home, there was not the faintest trace of firing.
"A regular mystery!" declared Jock. "Have that plug out again, Desmond old son."
Four times Findlay repeated the tests. The current easily ignited the dope in the plug when the latter was laid on the cylinder, but, as soon as the plug was replaced the petrol squirted, but it remained unfired.
"The clearance between the points is all right," he remarked, speaking to himself rather than to his companions.
For about half a minute he toyed seemingly aimlessly with the plug; then in an excited whisper he continued:
"I've got it, lads. At least, I think I have. Hand over that small spanner, Hayes. Thanks. Now bring our dinghy alongside. We'll try this little lad."
Very softly, so as not to disturb the occupants of the cabin (Findlay meant to give them a surprise), the outboard motor was clamped to the dinghy's transom. For the umpteenth time the engine was doped, and with bated breath Desmond and Hayes watched Jock grip the fly-wheel.One vigorous swing and the trick was done! With a series of rapid explosions the engine fired. Ahead shot the dinghy, the sudden acceleration capsizing Desmond and Hayes and throwing them in a heap upon the thwarts, while Findlay had only sufficient time to grasp the tiller and steer the dinghy clear of the yacht's side.
The roar of the motor brought Mr. Sadler and the Scoutmaster on deck. They were just in time to see Hayes and the Patrol Leader sorting themselves out, while Findlay, with a grin of triumph on his face, was steering the dinghy round theSpindriftat a speed that she had never before attained.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Sadler in sheer amazement. "However did they manage the trick?" Scoutmaster Graham smiled.
"You repent of your bargain, George?" he asked.
"Frankly, yes," was the reply. "Now that the old engine is letting out so nicely I rather regret my rashness. But a bargain's a bargain. Your lads have carried out their part, and I'll carry out mine."
The Sea Scouts careered about the harbour for nearly half an hour, and then brought the dinghy alongside and switched off the ignition.
"Will she start up again?" queried Mr. Sadler. In reply Jock gave the fly-wheel a sharp pull over. The engine fired immediately.
"She's yours," said the late owner, carelessly stuffing the five one-pound notes that Mr. Graham had given him into his pocket. "But tell me: what was wrong?"
"The plug, sir," replied Findlay.
"But it was a brand new one," rejoined Mr. Sadler.
"Yes, sir," explained Jock. "But the central rod was a little loose. There was the correct clearance between the points when the plug was out of the cylinder. When it was screwed home the rod touched one of the points, so there was no spark-gap."
"Well, good luck to you and your engine," said Mr. Sadler. "You deserve it, and the tip is well worth knowing. I'll order another outboard of the same type to-morrow."
"A regular Paddy's hurricane!" commented Desmond as he came on deck next morning.
Not a breath of wind stirred the air. The sky was clear; the placid waters of Padstow Harbour were as smooth as a mirror. The smoke from the various chimneys ashore went up as straight as a plumb-line.
Findlay, stopping only to tap the barometer, followed his chum into the cockpit.
"Gass high and steady," he observed. "It's going to be a top-hole day. Wind nor'-east, when it does come, I fancy."
"It's a good thing we have a motor," added Hayes, glancing at his blistered hands. "TheSpindriftis a regular brute to sweep along. How's that toe of yours, Desmond?"
"Much better, thanks," replied the Patrol Leader.
Mr. Graham, clad like the others in a bathing-suit, came on deck, glanced over the side to make sure that the tide was slack, and gave the signal.
The next instant four distinct splashes indicated that the crew of theSpindriftwere taking a personal interest in the waters of Padstow Harbour. A vigorous swim, followed by a brisk rub-down, gave the lads a most healthy appetite.
"When do we make a start, sir?" asked Desmond, during breakfast.
"As soon as we've stowed everything away," was the reply. "We've a fairly long run to-day."
"Round Land's End, sir?" asked Hayes.
"Hardly," rejoined Mr. Graham. "We'll have to be satisfied if we make St. Ives before night. There'll be wind before very long. By the by, Findlay, while we are clearing away and snugging down, you might go ashore and get a couple of tins of petrol and a quart of lubricating oil."
Jock went off in the dinghy. Whilst he was away Hayes washed up, Mr. Graham dried the breakfast things, and Desmond stowed them away.
"Are we going to tow the yacht out with the dinghy, sir?" asked Findlay on his return.
"No, we'll have the motor on theSpindrift'stransom," replied the Scoutmaster. "For one thing, the propeller will be a fairly big drag for the dinghy when we're towing her under sail."
"We can unship it from the dinghy, sir," said Findlay. "It only weighs about forty or fifty pounds."
"Quite so," agreed Mr. Graham, "but even thatweight requires some lifting in a small dinghy. If there's any roll on outside it will be a difficult matter to unclamp the motor and transfer it on board the yacht. We'll see what we can do now."
Luckily the edge of the transom projected a couple or three inches above theSpindrift'safter-deck, and to this projection the outboard engine was clamped, and the propeller adjusted until it was the right depth below the surface. Meanwhile Findlay had mixed the petrol and oil in the right proportions and had filled the tank.
"We've quite a lot of water in the bilges, sir," announced Hayes, who had lifted up one of the floor-boards.
"Yes, by Jove, we have," agreed Mr. Graham. "She's probably not taken up properly. Get the pump going, Hayes."
The Sea Scout fitted the plunger and primed the pump. Then he gave a dozen vigorous strokes, without the desired result.
"Pump's not working, sir," he declared.
The Scoutmaster looked to see what was amiss. The lower valve was adrift. It was of the double-mushroom pattern, with a flange in the barrel and a nut in the suction-pipe to keep the valve in its place. Removing the lower valve by means of a hooked rod, Mr. Graham found that the nut had come unfastened, and was probably half-way down the pipe.Without it the valve was lifted completely out of its resting by the suction of the plunger.
"That's awkward, sir," said Desmond. "The pipe's soldered to the barrel instead of having the usual union. What's to be done?"
"We can't go to sea with a pump out of action," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "What do you suggest, Desmond?"
"Unshipping the whole concern and taking it ashore to be set right, sir," was the reply. "It's a plumber's job."
"It would mean a day wasted," objected Findlay. "It's a pity to miss this fine weather."
"Then what do you suggest, old son?" asked the Patrol Leader. "If you've a stunt in the back of your mind, out with it."
"I'd scrap the lower valve," declared Findlay.
"But you must have one, Jock," interrupted Mr. Graham, "otherwise the pump won't act."
"Yes, sir, I know," said the Sea Scout. "All we want is a hollow india-rubber ball, slightly smaller than the bore of the pump, and a handful of cement. Punch a small hole in the ball, fill it with dry cement, and then put it in water to set. That's your lower valve."
"Yes, and I fancy that will do the trick, Jock," agreed the Scoutmaster. "Nip ashore and see if you can get the things."
Findlay made a second trip in the dinghy. During his absence the others got rid of the bilge-water by the tedious process of baling out, since some hours must necessarily elapse before the cement would set.
On Jock's return the motor was started and the anchor broken out. At a modest three knots theSpindriftglided easily toward the open sea, as if to demonstrate the superiority of the little 2 3/4 horse-power engine over a pair of sixteen-feet sweeps manned by Sea Scouts.
Desmond was at the helm; the Scoutmaster and Findlay were engaged in setting canvas in contemplation of a breeze outside; while Hayes, armed with bucket and mop, proceeded to remove the mud from the ketch's deck and to clean the slimy ooze from the anchor.
"We're in luck, sir!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader, as Trevose Lighthouse opened out on the port bow. "There's a breeze coming up right aft."
It was a fairly long time coming, but when it did arrive the breeze was a fair and steady one. The motor was switched off and hoisted inboard, sheets were trimmed, and lee-runners slacked away. Although the tide was against her, theSpindriftwas soon slipping steadily past the rock-bound coast.
Findlay set to work with the cement and the india-rubber ball. It was rather a troublesome task, as, in the rising wind, the powdered cement was blowing allover the yacht; but at last the ball was filled as tightly as possible and then dropped into a pail of water.
"It will be set by the time we drop anchor," he declared.
Three hours steady run brought theSpindriftabeam of Newquay. Then, clearing the Goose and the Chick—two outlying rocks—she squared off towards St. Agnes' Head.
"Fine piece of coast, this," observed Mr. Graham. "You'd hardly imagine those cliffs contained little harbours that did a roaring trade in the old smuggling days. There's Hanover Cove, Trevellas Porth, and Trevaunance Cove—picturesque little holes that from seaward would easily pass notice."
"What's the matter with the sea, sir?" suddenly exclaimed Hayes. "It's red!"
At that moment theSpindrifthad passed over a clearly defined line. On one side the sea was of a deep green, on the other it was of a vivid red, the red patch extending in semicircular formation with its base shorewards.
"Mundic—a sort of arsenic refuse from the mines," explained the Scoutmaster. "There's a large mine over there, close to Trevaunance, and the pumps throw out the mundic waste into a stream that in turn carries it to the sea. All along the coast you'll see the same sort of thing. Now, how about lunch, you fellows? I'm jolly hungry, if you are not."
Findlay, as "cook of the day ", went below to start up the stove and prepare the meal. There was a certain amount of rivalry between the lads in the matter of providing an appetizing meal, and Jock meant to "keep his end up".
Presently the fragrant odour of grilled steak wafted aft. The Scoutmaster, Desmond, and Hayes sniffed the air and nodded knowingly. Jock was going to do them well.
"All ready, you fellows!" he shouted.
TheSpindriftwas hove-to on the starboard tack, which meant that if she made any way at all it would be away from the shore. By this time the tide had changed, so that although hove-to she was still being carried towards her desired haven.
Into the cabinScoutmaster and Sea Scoutsscrambled. Findlay, proud as a peacock, served up the first course—pea soup. The hungry crew attacked it ravenously. They were too eager to talk.
After a few spoonfuls Desmond slowed down and watched his companions. Mr. Graham was somewhat critically examining the soup on his plate. Hayes had given up his portion as a bad job and was awaiting corroborative evidence.
"What's wrong?" asked the Patrol Leader.
"I don't know," replied Hayes. "It doesn't seem quite right, somehow. Does it, sir?"
Mr. Graham, thus appealed to, was about to givehis verdict when Findlay came into the cabin from the fo'c'sle.
"Ready for second course, sir? Hello! Not finished yet. Is there anything wrong?"
"I suppose, Jock," observed the Scoutmaster, "I suppose you did make the soup from the packet labelled 'pea soup'?"
"Yes, sir," replied Findlay, getting red in the face.
"I thought perhaps it might have been a packet of ground oyster-shells for chickens that the grocer had given you in mistake for pea flour."
Findlay tasted a spoonful of soup.
"It certainly is gritty, sir," he admitted. "All right, I'll bring the steak. Hang on to those plates, Hayes."
Hayes, who was nearest to the fo'c'sle door, took the pile of tin plates, as requested. He promptly dropped the lot.
"They're hot!" he exclaimed, holding his tingling fingers.
"Sorry," murmured Jock. "I meant them to be warmed. Pick them up with that cloth. I'm bringing in the steak and potatoes."
Judging by the rich brown appearance and savoury odour, the steak was done to a turn. But alas! Both meat and potatoes were as gritty and as unpalatable as the pea soup. It was only by carefully scraping the steak on all sides that it could be rendered eatable;while the potatoes, boiled to softness, would not yield to such treatment. Nor was the bread much better.
"I can't think what's happened, sir," said Findlay, abjectly apologetic.
"I can tell you, I think," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "Everything's smothered with cement dust, and the powder has solidified into little pellets. Look! This shelf is thick with white dust."
Desmond laughed good-humouredly.
"Poor old Jock evidently forgot that we belong to the Seal Patrol, sir," he exclaimed. "He thinks we are ostriches. Ostriches swallow chunks of stone and nails, don't they, sir?"
There was yet another course—jam tart—but Findlay had not the courage to produce it. Surreptitiously, a couple of hours later, he dropped it overboard. The pastry, as hard as iron, sank like a stone, which was not to be wondered at when Jock found that the remainder of the cement had toppled over into the jar containing the flour. In the dim light of the fo'c'sle he had failed to notice the catastrophe—hence the pastry composed of flour and cement in almost equal parts.
There was nothing to be done but to fall back upon bully beef and biscuits. Fortunately, these were in air-tight tins and had escaped the sand-storm which had swept over the cabin and fo'c'sle.
"Cheer up, Jock!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "There's no harm done." ("I don't know about that," remarked Hayessotto voce.) "It's merely a little object lesson in the advantages and disadvantages of the use of Portland cement."
The sorry repast over, the crew repaired on deck. Headsails were trimmed, and once more theSpindriftheeled to the freshening breeze. Godrevy Island and its lighthouse were presently abeam, and the expanse of St. Ives Bay lay ahead.
"Clinking breeze, isn't it, sir?" remarked Desmond.
"M'yes," admitted the Scoutmaster.
The Patrol Leader glanced inquiringly at him. The none too emphatic affirmative needed some explanation.
"This wind," continued Mr. Graham, "is rather bad for the tidal harbour of St. Ives. It may send in a nasty lop unless it pipes down before night."
Mr. Graham was particularly anxious to put into St. Ives, as it was a good port of departure for rounding Land's End, or "The Land" as it is described by seamen. But, with the wind east or nor'-east, the anchorage was undesirable, although there was littledanger. An alternative was Hayle, where a safe but congested anchorage was to be found, but that meant considerable delay and increased distance for the next day's run. A high and steady glass decided the point; Mr. Graham made up his mind to make St. Ives.
Shortening sail, theSpindriftpassed the end of the partly demolished breakwater and rounded-to. In ordinary circumstances it would have been possible to run out a warp to an iron post ashore and a stern line to one of the buoys; but such a course was now impracticable. The tidal harbour was so full of fishing craft that no post or buoy was available.
"We'll have to anchor, lads," he exclaimed. "Stream the buoy—clove hitch on the crown, there Jock. Let go!"
The wind was dying down, and there was only a slight roll. The picturesque little harbour took the Sea Scouts' fancy immensely. They were all eager to go ashore.
"Can't we have a meal in the town, sir?" inquired Hayes artlessly. "If we had it on board we might have to swallow another peck of cement."
"All right!" agreed Mr. Graham. "See that there's nothing loose on deck."
"Are there thieves about?" asked Findlay.
"No, I'm not thinking of that," replied the Scoutmaster, "otherwise one of us would have to remain on board. As a rule it's quite safe to leave anythingabout in these Cornish ports. The people are quite different from those of certain Thames Estuary places, where you daren't leave the slightest thing of value and expect to find it in the morning. No; what I'm thinking of is that theSpindriftmay lie over a bit when the tide leaves her, and things on deck may roll off."
Ten minutes later the crew of theSpindriftwere exploring the crooked, narrow, and picturesque streets of old St. Ives, built on a narrow neck of rocky ground called, for some inexplicable reason, The Island. There they inquired for the post office, for Mr. Graham had arranged to pick up letters at St. Ives.
There was a goodly budget, all hands receiving three or more missives. One was from Patrol Leader Bradley, of the 9th Southend Troop, who was one of the lads who had arranged to join the guardship at Wootton.
"DEAR SIR" (it ran),"Johns, Dexter, Phillips, Wenlock, and I arrived here yesterday. We think it a top-hole place, but we wish we were with you on the yacht. There's not much news. Bedford cut himself last night, and this morning Coles fell overboard."Yours truly,"WILL BRADLEY,"P. L. 9th S. on S. Sea Scouts."
"DEAR SIR" (it ran),
"Johns, Dexter, Phillips, Wenlock, and I arrived here yesterday. We think it a top-hole place, but we wish we were with you on the yacht. There's not much news. Bedford cut himself last night, and this morning Coles fell overboard.
"Yours truly,"WILL BRADLEY,"P. L. 9th S. on S. Sea Scouts."
Another letter was from Tenderfoot Coles:
"DEAR SIR,"We hope you are having a good time on theSpindrift. I hope to have a telegram from you telling Bedford and me to come to Plymouth as soon as possible. The other fellows came here yesterday, so we are pretty lively. I've just fallen overboard. A rope parted as I was hauling up the dinghy. There was no tide running, so I swam to the gangway, and Dexter hauled me up. I've changed and now I'm quite all right. Bedford cut his little finger with a tin-opener. It's not much. Phillips and I bound it up, and this morning it is almost healed."Yours Sea-scoutingly,"EDWARD COLES."
"DEAR SIR,
"We hope you are having a good time on theSpindrift. I hope to have a telegram from you telling Bedford and me to come to Plymouth as soon as possible. The other fellows came here yesterday, so we are pretty lively. I've just fallen overboard. A rope parted as I was hauling up the dinghy. There was no tide running, so I swam to the gangway, and Dexter hauled me up. I've changed and now I'm quite all right. Bedford cut his little finger with a tin-opener. It's not much. Phillips and I bound it up, and this morning it is almost healed.
"Yours Sea-scoutingly,"EDWARD COLES."
"Two youngsters write about the same incident," thought Mr. Graham. "One omits the most important part—how the accidents occurred and how they resulted. The other gives just the necessary details and no more. Coles will, I fancy, turn out to be a better Patrol Leader than Bradley is. One is practical, and the other is unimaginative. Bradley is a worker, but he has no initiative."
After a long walk along the cliffs, the Sea Scouts returned to the harbour to find theSpindriftlying high and dry, and with a pronounced list to starboard. Fortunately, she was fairly flat-floored and had been fitted with bilge-keels, so there was no cause for anxiety on the score of her not lifting to the rising tide.
Taking off shoes and stockings, the crew dragged their dinghy over the sandy bed of the harbour until they were close enough to secure the painter to the yacht's bumkin. Then, scrambling on board, they made the best of a bad job until the rising tide brought theSpindriftto an even keel.
It was now ten o'clock. Assuming that the tide would be half an hour later on the morrow, Mr. Graham announced that he hoped to get under way sharp at eleven.
"And have a good night's rest, lads," he added. "To-morrow's cruise will be the heaviest of the lot, I fancy. We may not make Penzance until after dark."
The lads had a fairly restful night, but at five in the morning those sleeping in the bunks on the port side were summarily evicted by theSpindriftheeling well over as the tide left her. Findlay and Hayes, being on the starboard side, slept on, sublimely unconscious of their companions' discomfort, until Desmond slackened off their cot-lashings and tumbled them unceremoniously upon the floor.
They had breakfast in undignified postures, sitting on the rise of the starboard bunk with their feetpropped against the panelling of the cabin. To the happy-go-lucky Sea Scouts it was part of the game. They made light of their discomforts, and of a heavy and substantial meal at the same time.
A trip ashore, performed almost dryshod on the bed of the harbour, occupied a part of the time before theSpindriftlifted. Then, as the tide rose and the angle of the yacht's deck became less and less, all hands set to work to prepare the vessel for sea.
At last she was afloat. With a light nor'-westerly breeze sweeping down over The Island the canvas was set and the cable hove short. Already the bilge had been pumped dry. The yacht had almost "taken up", and the pump now acted admirably, thereby compensating in a measure for Findlay's lavish use of powdered Portland cement.
"All ready?" shouted Desmond, who had charge of the yacht during this stage of the proceedings. "Cant her off on the starboard tack, Jock. Up with the anchor, Hayes, smartly now!"
TheSpindriftheeled as Findlay hauled the staysail sheet a-weather. Hayes at the winch plied the lever vigorously. At first the cable came home quickly, then the strain became greater and greater until Hayes was unable to move the winch lever another inch.
"Up with it, Hayes," yelled the Patrol Leader.
"Can't," was the laconic response.
Quickly belaying the staysail sheet, Findlay went tohis chum's assistance. Another half a dozen links came home, and then the cable remained rigid and immovable.
"Anchor's foul of something, sir!" reported Findlay breathlessly.
"Carry on!" was the Scoutmaster's only rejoinder.
The Sea Scouts knew the meaning of that "Carry on". It meant that they were on their mettle. They had to extricate the anchor by their own devices. The first thing they did was to secure the anchor-trig and haul on the trip-line. The latter was unequal to the strain. It parted well below the surface. Not for the first time was a trip-line a broken reed.
Then Desmond tried to break out the anchor by "sailing it out". Telling Jock to pay out plenty of chain, he got way on the yacht, first on one tack and then on the other. Every time the cable snubbed violently, but still the stubborn anchor retained its hold.
It was now about time, thought Mr. Graham, that he had a look in. Gaining experience was all very well when time was no object; but, with a long day's run in front of him, the Scoutmaster realized that every minute counted. Not only that, the tide was making rapidly, and the deeper the water the more difficult would be the task of freeing the fouled anchor.
Telling Findlay and Desmond to heave short, Mr. Graham went for'ard with a long boat-hook and acoil of three-inch manila, one end of which was bent to the anchor buoy. Sounding, the Scoutmaster confirmed his suspicions: the anchor had caught in a heavy ground-chain. His next step was to submerge the buoy with the boat-hook until he could pass it under the bight of the chain. This took a considerable amount of time and patience, but at length the buoy reappeared on the surface, while the rope to which it was attached had been passed under the chain itself. "Now we've settled the problem!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "Cast off the cable from the wind, Findlay, and take a couple of turns with the rope. That's right, now heave on the winch." The two Sea Scouts did so until the three-inch manila was strained almost to breaking-point. They now realized what the Scoutmaster was about. The strain on the rope lifted the mooring chain clear of the ground. It now ought to be a simple matter to shake the anchor clear, stow it on board, and ride to the rope until it required to be slipped.
It was a simple operation in theory. In practice Mr. Graham had done it successfully on several occasions, but this time the Scoutmaster had the mortification of finding that his practical demonstration was a failure. The anchor stubbornly refused to release its hold, and no power available could raise the bight of the mooring chain above the surface. For half an hour Mr. Graham persevered. By that timethe strain on the rope had brought the yacht's bows down a good eighteen inches above her water-level.
"Slacken away, lads," he exclaimed. "We'll have to wait till low tide. There's no sailing for us to-day."
During the afternoon, a heavy ground-swell set in, followed by a gusty sou'-westerly wind. Consulting the barometer the Scoutmaster found that the glass had dropped three points in less than a couple of hours.
He no longer regretted that theSpindrifthad been compelled to remain in port.
Presently the fishing-boats in St. Ives Bay came heading up for home under close reefed canvas. A little later a couple of boats ran round Fisherman's Reef with their mizzen sails set on their main-masts. Their mainsails had been split to ribbons. They were followed by a smack under jury-rig, her mast having parted five feet above the deck.
The Scoutmaster was immensely relieved that theSpindriftwas not off Land's End.
At low tide all hands went over the side to retrieve the fouled anchor. One fluke had caught in a link, and the strain had forced it in so far that it could only be released by heavy blows with a hammer.
To prevent a repetition of the occurrence, the anchor was unshackled and the cable passed under the ground chain and brought back on board again.
"That will hold us all right," declared Findlay.
"My word, sir," said Hayes. "It would have been a bit rough outside, wouldn't it?"
"They say—those fishermen over there," remarked Desmond, "that the Sennen lifeboat had to go out to rescue the crew of a couple of schooners. Where is Sennen, sir?"
"Close to Land's End," replied Mr. Graham, while in his heart he was giving thanks to Providence that theSpindriftand her crew were not lying fathoms deep off the pitiless rocks of Cornwall.