Suddenly, Hayes was awakened by a slight jar upon the yacht's hull. He looked up, sleepily, at the patch of greyish light filtering through the starboard scuttle. Already dawn was breaking.
"Swell of a passing steamer, I guess," he said to himself, as he replaced his head on the pillow.
Another slight shock roused him before he had fallen asleep again.
"It must be the dinghy bumping alongside," he declared. "I suppose I ought to drop a bucket over her stern. That'll keep her clear."
Still drowsy, the Sea Scout rolled out of his bunk, and made his way through the sliding-door into the cabin. Although the yacht was moving slightly, the floor was sloping decidedly to port. Hayes thought that this was rather unusual, but in his semi-torpid state the fact did not trouble him.
Treading softly with his bare feet, so as to avoid disturbing the slumbering occupants of the cabin, Hayes went on deck with the laudable intention of preventing the dinghy grinding against the yacht's side. But, whenhe gained the open air, he could only stand stock still and rub his eyes in sheer amazement.
TheSpindriftwas not in the spot where she had been anchored the previous night. She was not even in the harbour; she was outside of it and about half a mile from the entrance. Hayes could make out both Dartmouth and Kingswear Castles in the growing light. She was aground, listing slightly to port, with some jagged rocks showing just above the water within a dozen yards of her starboard side.
Hayes was now fully awake. His first step was to rouse his companions.
"Below there!" he shouted. "We're adrift!"
"Shut up, you noisy blighter," replied Desmond sleepily. "It's not time to turn out. Go to your bunk and stop skylarking."
Mr. Graham, too, stirred himself and added to the protest, only to fall fast asleep again in a valiant endeavour to fulfil his promise of "sleeping the clock round".
"G-r-r-r-r!" gurgled Findlay. "Chuck it, you idiot."
But Hayes was not to be "choked off". Descending the cabin steps he gripped the Patrol Leader by the shoulder.
"I'm not joking, Desmond," he said earnestly. "We are adrift. We're aground right outside the harbour."
Desmond rolled out of his cot.
"Right-o," he replied, glancing at the dog-tired Scoutmaster. "Hike Jock out of it. Don't bother to disturb Mr. Graham."
Findlay was turned out without ceremony, and the three lads hurriedly threw on their clothes. By the time they went on deck, the tide had fallen considerably, leaving the yacht still heeling slightly to port.
"By Jove!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader, sounding with a boat-hook. "We've done it this time. We're properly in the soup. There's three feet of water to starboard, and I can't touch bottom on the other side. If she rolls right over she'll be done for. Bring the dinghy alongside, Hayes. Jock, bear a hand with the kedge. We'll have to lay it out and get a strain on the warp by the throat halliards. It's our only chance."
The Sea Scouts worked like Trojans. The kedge was carried off to the rocks and a strain taken up on the mast by means of a tackle. So great was the tension that the port shrouds were as taut as fiddle-strings, while those on the starboard side were quite limp. But it was impossible to get the yacht on an even keel. All that could be done was done—and that was to prevent theSpindrifttoppling over the ledge into deep water.
"Now," continued the Patrol Leader, "no jumping about. Keep on the starboard side as much as possible. Bring the dinghy aft: we may want her in a hurry."
"I suppose we can just breathe," remarked Findlayjocularly. "That wouldn't disturb the balance, would it?"
The others laughed. The mental tension was broken.
"You can breathe as hard as you jolly well like, Jock," replied the Patrol Leader. "But you won't develop anything like the horse-power that my heart did just now. It was thumping against my ribs like a sledge hammer."
For some minutes the lads remained silent, watching the falling tide. Fortunately there was not a breath of wind and the sea was calm, save for the ripples as the ebb poured through the narrow entrance to the harbour.
"What beats me," remarked Desmond, knitting his brows, "is how we got here. I suppose the anchor tripped. It's a wonder we didn't foul any of the other yachts and vessels in the harbour."
"I suppose the chain didn't part?" suggested Jock. "We can see," replied the Patrol Leader. "Jump into the dinghy. There's still enough water for her." The three Sea Scouts boarded the little cockleshell and paddled towards the bow of theSpindrift. By this time the yacht was well out of water, resting in a shallow groove in a flat-topped, weed-covered shelf of rock. Only six inches of slippery rock separated the keel from a sheer drop into twelve or fifteen feet of water, and, should the supporting tackle give, there was nothing to prevent the yacht falling with a terrific crash into the depths.
"I say," exclaimed Findlay, pointing to theSpindrift'sbows. "Who anchored the yacht last night?"
"You did," replied Desmond and Hayes simultaneously.
"Then a pretty mess I made of it," admitted Findlay frankly. "Look at it!"
There was the anchor, which was supposed to have been well down into the mud on the bed of the harbour, one of its flukes hung up on the yacht's bobstay, while a bight of fifteen fathoms of chain trailed uselessly across the rocks.
Back to the yacht the lads went, exercising the greatest caution in getting on board. The sight of the yacht viewed from bows-on had not allayed their fears, but rather the reverse. Almost high and dry she looked immense, and it seemed impossible that the two-inch warp could preserve the balance of the dangerously listing craft.
"We'd better wake Mr. Graham, after all, I think," said Desmond. "He can do nothing—nor can we—but if the yacht did fall over he'd be drowned like a blind kitten in a bucket."
The Patrol Leader went below and touched Mr. Graham's shoulder.
"Hello, up and dressed!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "What's the time? Why, it's only half-past six! And the yacht's listing. What's happened?"
Briefly, Desmond explained. Mr. Graham did noteven wait for the report to be concluded. Grabbing his clothes he went on deck, the Patrol Leader following cautiously and eagerly. He didn't fancy being below. It was a jolly sight safer on deck, he decided.
"Well, she's all right if that tackle holds," said Mr Graham. "You could not have done much more. It's merely a question of waiting till the tide rises. Low water isn't till seven o'clock. With luck we'll be afloat by eleven."
"No grub till then," added Findlay.
"We can run round in the dinghy," continued the Scoutmaster. "That will give the yacht a better chance than if we remained on board."
"How about sending for Bedford and Coles, sir?" suggested Findlay. He knew that, according to arrangements, Hayes and he would have to return to Wootton, and, although loath to miss the rest of the run round in theSpindrift, he wished to see that his chums had a "look in".
"Not much use doing that until we know we've a yacht for them to sail back in," rejoined the Scoutmaster, glancing gloomily at the precarious state of affairs. "All aboard the dinghy—don't jump about too much."
The dinghy was manned. The Sea Scouts pushed off and rowed slowly towards the channel. As it was, the keel grated on the rocks as she drew clear.
Then the dangerous position of theSpindriftcouldbe fully realized. She was high and dry, with the exception of her keel. Her mast was at an angle of about 15 degrees from the perpendicular. There was a risk of two accidents happening: either the mast-head tackle might part and let the yacht over, or else her keel might slip off the ledge, with the result that she would strike the sharp edge of the rocky shelf and be stove in. Either might happen should a strong wind spring up.
For a couple of hours the crew paddled about in the dinghy, until it was dead low water. They had to keep an eye on the yacht, not that they could prevent disaster, but with the object of salving anything that floated should she sink.
It was a weird sight, for at low tide the keel of theSpindriftwas five feet above the water-level, while a plummet from her starboard side would sink in ten feet of water.
"I'm afraid it was my fault, sir," said Findlay.
"Don't let that worry you, Jock," replied Mr. Graham. "You are not the first person who thought he'd let the anchor go properly. There's always that risk on a dark night."
"I'll take good care in future to see that the fluke hasn't caught up on the bobstay," said Findlay with grim resolution.
At last the pangs of hunger drove the crew ashore. The tide was now rising, and every minute lessenedthe danger of disaster to the yacht; but it was an unwise proceeding to attempt strenuous work on empty stomachs.
After a hearty "breakfast-and-dinner-combined", the crew re-embarked in the dinghy and rowed towards the mouth of the harbour, taking advantage of the strong counter-eddy to the main flood.
To everyone's delight theSpindriftwas still in the same position as when they last saw her, but the water was now within a foot of her load-line.
"It's quite safe to get aboard," said Mr. Graham. "Directly she feels lively we can ease off the throat-halliards, recover our kedge and lay it out in the stream. Let's hope there's no steamer coming in or out, or her wash will give the yacht a nasty hammering on the rocks."
All hands set to work with a will. The yacht was pumped dry, although she did not appear to have more water in the bilges than usual. Then the kedge, with thirty fathoms of grass line, was dropped in deep water.
The loud bray of a syren, echoing along the wooded hills on the Kingswear side of the harbour, warned the Sea Scouts that what they didn't want to happen was taking place. Already the bows of a large collier were visible as she rounded the precipitous bluff of St. Petrox.
"Driving for all she's worth," exclaimed Desmond. "Look at her bow-wave. Do you think she'll slow down for us, sir?"
"Hope so," replied the Scoutmaster laconically, and standing on the cabin-top he semaphored to the oncoming vessel to ease down.
The collier showed not the faintest sign of so doing. She passed at full speed, a couple of men on the bridge grinning at the plight of the yacht as she did so.
"Look out!" shouted Mr. Graham. "Mind you aren't jerked overboard."
The Sea Scouts took the warning promptly. It was lucky for them that they did. A huge wave was approaching, but, as generally happens when a vessel is steaming hard in a narrow channel, the water on either side was sucked away like the undertow of a receding breaker.
TheSpindrift, already practically water-borne, lifted heavily as the swirling stream struck her side. The next moment she was swept from her precarious position into deep water.
So far so good. But there still remained a great risk of disaster. Would the rapidly-approaching wash hurl the yacht back again upon the granite-like ledge?
Quick to act, the Scoutmaster rushed for'ard and began hauling in the kedge-warp. Desmond, grasping the situation, scrambled for'ard also, maintaining his balance like a cat. Together they hauled their hardest, then:
"Belay!" exclaimed Mr. Graham.
The Patrol Leader took a turn round the bitts. Itwas impossible to haul in any more of the rope before the swell struck the yacht.
TheSpindriftdipped her bows well under as the curling mass of water poured over the fore-deck, drenching Mr. Graham and his companion to the skin. Back she staggered until the warp tautened like a violin-string. Then, aided by the undertow, she plunged forward again, this time well clear of danger.
It had been a narrow shave. Findlay and Hayes, who had been hanging on to the cockpit coaming, afterwards told Mr. Graham that the yacht's transom was within a couple of yards of the rocks. Had she struck, the terrific shock would have broken her back and she would have sunk like a stone.
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Mr. Graham. "That was a close thing. I'd like to meet the fellow in charge of that collier. I won't call him a Master. A sailorman wouldn't do a thing like that. I say, lads, where's our dinghy?"
In the excitement no one had given a thought to the dinghy. She had been made fast to the shrouds, and apparently the violent wash had caused her to break adrift.
She was now a good fifty yards to leeward, drifting slowly, but evidently uninjured. A portion of the painter still remained bent to the shroud, so there was some slight satisfaction in the knowledge that Hayes had not made a slippery hitch. The two-inch rope, almost new, had parted like pack-thread.
"I'm soaked as it is," said Desmond, kicking off his shoes. "Another little drop won't do me any harm! The oars are in the dinghy, aren't they, Hayes?"
The Sea Scout nodded. That was good enough for the Patrol Leader. The next instant he dived in over the side and began striking out for the errant dinghy.
The first twenty yards was a hard struggle, for the flood-tide was setting strongly athwart the swimmer's course, but, as soon as he was over the ledge on which theSpindrifthad grounded, the cross-current was notso perceptible. There was now six feet of water over this part of the reef, but the long trailing kelp, which at low tide had been lying dormant on the rocks, was now rising vertically to within eighteen inches of the surface.
It was an unpleasant sensation when Desmond's feet touched the trailing tentacles of weed. Although slimy, they had a distinct tendency to entangle him. They impeded his progress. He tried to keep his feet closer to the surface to evade the kelp, but to no purpose.
The while the dinghy was drifting slowly but steadily towards a cluster of rocks, appropriately named The Verticals, against which the surf was lashing. Once she got within the limits of that broken water she would be done for, and Desmond would have all his work cut out to swim back to the yacht.
At length, finding his progress tedious and difficult, the Patrol Leader turned over on his back. His feet were in consequence nearer the surface, and, aided by the fin-like movements of his hands, Desmond found that the weed no longer hampered him.
Steadily he gained upon the truant, until, with a feeling of relief, he grasped the gunwale. Even then, fairly tired with his strenuous efforts, he had to hang on for a minute or so before clambering in over the transom.
There was only one oar in the boat. The other had been jerked overboard by the steamer's wash.
Apart from the actual loss, the fact that only one oar remained did not daunt the resourceful Patrol Leader. Sculling over the stern is an accomplishment that almost every Sea Scout is capable of. The average amateur is "tied up in knots" if called upon to scull a dinghy.
Fortunately the little craft had a sculling notch in the transom. Quickly Desmond had the dinghy under control, and was making good progress towards theSpindrift.
"There's the other oar!" he exclaimed to himself, as he caught sight of the missing article. Offering no resistance to the breeze, it had drifted much slower than the buoyant dinghy, and on that account it had escaped the Patrol Leader's notice as he swam. Standing up and sculling, he commanded a larger "field" of vision—although the "field" was an expanse of sunlit waves—and thus was able to spot the drifting oar.
"Well done, Desmond!" exclaimed Mr. Graham, as the dinghy came alongside theSpindrift. The other Sea Scouts gave their plucky comrade a rousing cheer.
"We'll want a new painter, sir," he remarked.
"Findlay will reeve a fresh one," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "Nip down below and shift your wet gear."
Aided by the flood-tide and the little outboard motor, theSpindriftwas soon back at the anchorage from which she had taken French leave. This time there was no mistake. The crew took good care to see that the anchorwas down properly, and in addition they laid out a kedge.
"Here we stop until we weigh for the Solent, lads," said Mr. Graham. "Unless the Harbour Master takes it into his head to make us shift our berth. Now, Findlay and Hayes, have you packed up ready for your train journey to Southampton?"
The two Sea Scouts pulled long faces. It was one of those occasions when they forgot the Scout precept "Keep Smiling ".
"No, sir, not yet," was the reply.
"I'm going ashore to telegraph to Bedford and Coles to join us here," continued the Scoutmaster. "But I've been thinking matters over. Bradley and the other fellows will be quite at home on the guardship at Wootton by this time. We can very well do with a larger crew, so I think you two will be better employed on theSpindriftthan going back to Wootton."
"Thank you, sir, awfully!" exclaimed Jock, while Hayes began a horn-pipe on deck, which came to a rapid and premature end when his bare toe came in painful contact with a gun-metal cleat.
Accordingly, a telegram was dispatched to Sea Scout Frank Bedford, telling him to arrive at Kingswear at 7.30 p.m. on the following day and that Coles was to accompany him.
"Why did you say Kingswear, sir?" inquired Hayes, as they came out of the post office.
Mr. Graham pretended not to hear the question, and Hayes did not press the point.
After wandering through the streets of Dartmouth and viewing the old-style half-timbered houses of the Butterwalk, the crew of theSpindriftmade their way towards the castle.
They had not gone very far when Mr. Graham touched Hayes on the shoulder.
"Just run over to Dartmouth railway station and see if there's a parcel for me, please," he said. "We'll wait here till you get back. Be as sharp as you can."
Hayes hurried off on his errand. When he was out of sight, Mr. Graham laughed.
"It's a little joke," he explained to the others. "There isn't a railway station at Dartmouth. Kingswear, across the harbour, is the terminus for Dartmouth passengers. It will be rather curious to know how Hayes progresses in his search for something that doesn't exist."
"Are you expecting a parcel at Kingswear station, sir?" asked Findlay.
"No, I'm not," replied Mr. Graham, enjoying the joke immensely. "We'll sit down by the side of the river and wait for developments."
Ten minutes passed—twenty—then half an hour. The Scoutmaster began to wonder what had happened to his messenger.
"Perhaps he's found out you are pulling his leg, sir," suggested Desmond.
"And then?"
"He's gone on board," continued the Patrol Leader. "Fed up sort of feeling."
"I don't think Hayes would take it that way," declared Mr. Graham, "or I would not have played a joke upon him. A joke always falls very flat if the victim cannot take it good-temperedly."
Three-quarters of an hour passed. The Sea Scouts were about to return to search for the absent member of the crew when Hayes came into view, running and rather short of breath.
"It's there, sir," he began. "There's no railway station at Dartmouth, but the first fellow I asked—a Scout—told me to go across the harbour to Kingswear. There's a ferry across. The chap in the parcel office told me that your box had come, but he wouldn't let me have it. It has to be claimed by the consignee in person."
"I suppose you're trying to pull my leg?" asked Mr. Graham smilingly.
Hayes looked at him in open-eyed astonishment.
"Pulling your leg, sir," he repeated. "Of course not. I saw the box there—it's a pretty heavy one." The Scoutmaster was puzzled. He had arranged for a package to be sent to Plymouth, to be picked up on the voyage; but, as far as he knew, no one had been instructed to forward it on.
"Well, I suppose I must solve the mystery," heremarked. "You fellows carry on. Have a good old ramble round the Castle. Take your time, provided you are at the quayside at seven."
Making his way back to the town, Mr. Graham crossed the harbour in theSpindrift'sdinghy, in order that he might take his parcel straight on board the yacht.
At the station he found that the Sea Scout's statement was correct. There was a large box—about as big as one man could handle—addressed to: W. Graham, Esq., Kingswear Station—To be called for.
"Four shillings and twopence, please, sir," said the official in charge of the office. "Passenger train—special rate. And please sign here."
The Scout Master signed the buff form, paid the four shillings and twopence, and took possession of the box. Failing to find any porters, he manhandled the bulky article himself, but, by the time he deposited it in the stern-sheets of the dinghy, the perspiration was pouring down his face.
All the while he was racking his brains to think who could have sent the box. It had been dispatched from Paddington, but there was no indication on the label as to the consignor.
"Gear from head-quarters, that's what it is!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "Wonder I hadn't thought of that before, but how came they to know I am at Dartmouth—I'll give that part up."
It had been a fairly difficult single-handed job totransfer the box from the stationary pontoon to the lively little dinghy. The difficulty was increased ten fold when it came to transhipping the "gear" from the dinghy to the higher level of the gently rocking yacht.
At length, with the assistance of the throat halliards, the Scoutmaster succeeded in getting the heavy box on to the waterways. Then he dragged it aft, and toppled it carefully into the cockpit; but in spite of his caution, he contrived to bark the knuckles of his left hand.
The box was corded, every knot—"grannies" most of them—was smothered with sealing wax. Mr. Graham was too good a seaman to spoil a sound piece of rope by cutting it. Deliberately he undid the knots and did the rope up into a neat coil.
The next step was to prise open the lid. It was nailed down, with a French nail at every two inches all the way round. By the aid of an axe, a screw-driver, and a hammer, Mr. Graham removed the lid, although in the attempt he split the wood into five or six pieces.
Full of pleasurable anticipation following his strenuous endeavours, Mr. Graham tore aside the canvas wrappings. Then he broke into a cold sweat, for the box was crammed with theatrical effects—wigs, eighteenth century costumes, partly used grease paints, and a pile of old posters in which the name—Wilfred Graham, Acting Manager—appeared conspicuously.
Evidently the gear belonged to a touring company billed to appear for a two night's performance at Dartmouth, and the Scoutmaster pictured the most unholy row that the actors would kick up when they found that their "props" were not forthcoming.
Hastily Mr. Graham replaced the things he had removed, nailed down the lid and re-corded the box. Then came the labour of hoisting it over the side into the dinghy and taking it back to the station.
He arrived almost breathless at the parcels office, just as a very irate man was coming out. The two W. Grahams were face to face.
"Confound you, sir!" roared the Acting Manager. "What are you doing with my property?"
"Returning it," replied the Scoutmaster. "You'll find nothing missing."
"Of no value to you, I suppose?" snapped the other, sarcastically.
"That," rejoined Mr. Graham, "is beside the point. If you will listen to my explanation I think you will see the funny side of the affair. My surname happens to be the same as your own; so do the initials."
As the explanation proceeded, the Acting Manager's face grew less angry, until he actually laughed.
"All right, dear old boy," he exclaimed. "Come and have a drink?"
The Scoutmaster declined the invitation.
"Then let me give you a couple of tickets for tomorrow night's show," persisted the theatrical man.
"Sorry, but we're away to-morrow," was the reply. The two men shook hands and parted, the Scoutmaster, hot and tired, making his way to the dinghy.
* * * * *
* * * * *
At seven sharp, the Sea Scouts were at the quay landing steps. There was no sign of theSpindrift'sdinghy. The yacht was not visible from where they stood, a large tramp steamer lying between her and the Dartmouth side of the harbour.
At half-past seven, no Scoutmaster being forthcoming, Desmond suggested going on board.
"We can get a boatman to put us off," he said. "It's quite possible Mr. Graham has gone for a row in the dinghy, and it's taking longer to get back against the tide than he thought."
"And we can have grub ready when he returns," added Findlay. "Something hot and tasty, you know."
He winked at Hayes. Desmond, being "cook of the day", didn't greet the suggestion with boisterous enthusiasm.
Returning on board theSpindrift, the lads prepared for the overdue Scoutmaster's arrival. It was not until eight-thirty that Mr. Graham showed up, looking very hot and tired.
Offering no explanation, he sat down at the table where the meal was in readiness. The rest of the crewcouldn't understand it. It was not like their Scoutmaster.
But half-way through the meal, Mr. Graham rather astonished them by roaring with laughter.
"Hayes, my boy!" he exclaimed, when the fit of merriment was over, "I tried to play a little joke on you this afternoon; but, by Jove! it's rebounded on me with a vengeance."
"How, sir?" asked Hayes.
Mr. Graham explained. He was one of those people who enjoy telling a joke against themselves.
At the appointed time, theSpindrift'screw was augmented by the arrival of Bedford and Coles. The new members were delighted with the yacht and her surroundings. The only grievance—if grievance it can be termed—was that their share of the voyage had been shortened by the distance from Plymouth to Dartmouth.
"Well, what's the news from Wootton?" inquired Mr. Graham, after the two Sea Scouts had taken in the details of their new acquisition, and had been told of her exciting run round The Land.
"Everything's all serene, sir," replied Bedford. "Patrol Leader Bradley has got the rest of the Troop well in hand. Makes them do physical jerks every morning before breakfast. We had to before we came away at nine o'clock."
"You look very fit, Bedford," said Desmond. "You've worked down a lot of your fat."
"And you haven't put any on," retorted Bedford, looking at the lean, weather-beaten features of the Patrol Leader.
"And how are the Collinsons?" asked Mr. Graham.
"Mr. Collinson's doing well, sir," replied Bedford "His arm is mending rapidly. He told me the other day that we were so jolly handy that he meant to ship a couple of Sea Scouts on board his yacht instead of a paid hand. When do we start, sir?"
"At daybreak to-morrow," answered the Scoutmaster. "The glass is high and steady, and the weather forecast—if that's anything to go by—is for westerly winds of moderate strength. We've a goodish run across West Bay, and I want to be well to the east'ard of Portland Bill by the early evening."
Grey dawn was appearing over the Devon hills when the crew of theSpindriftturned out.
"Isn't it cold for August!" exclaimed Bedford, swinging his arms.
"You're cold, eh?" rejoined the Patrol Leader, jumping at the opportunity afforded by Bedford's remark. "Right-o; nip below and start up the stove. You're cook of the day."
The Sea Scout obeyed readily enough. By the time the rest of the crew had uncoated the mainsail, got the headsail and mizzen ready to hoist, and had broken out and stowed the kedge, the "galley-slave", as Hayes termed the youth told off for cooking meals, reported that hot cocoa was ready.
A large cup of the sustaining beverage and a couple of very hard biscuits provided the "stand-by" tocommence the working day, as breakfast was to be served while under way.
The little motor acted admirably, in spite of the cold, starting up at the first swing of the fly-wheel. "All ready?" shouted the Scoutmaster.
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Heave her up."
The pawls of the winch clattered merrily as the cable came home. Presently the big galvanized anchor appeared above the surface. Findlay promptly caught the gravity-band shackle with the lower block of the handy-billy, and in double quick time the "killick" was secured on deck.
By this time theSpindriftwas forging slowly ahead, and the hitherto fully occupied lads had an opportunity of seeing the last of Dartmouth for no doubt a considerable time.
Within the harbour the water was as calm as a millpond, save for the rippling wake of the outward bound yacht. Outside, the sea was dancing under the influence of a light westerly breeze, which promised to grow in strength as the sun rose higher.
Sail was now set, and the engine switched off.
Desmond, as sailing master, told off Hayes for the first two hours at the helm.
"Keep the East Blackstone on your port bow," he cautioned. "When that's abeam, we'll set a compass course."
"May we fish, sir?" asked Findlay. "We heard last night that there are shoals of mackerel off the East Blackstone."
"Certainly," replied Mr. Graham. "Only take care to keep your hooks clear of the main and mizzen sheets!"
Findlay had brought mackerel hooks and spinners. Quickly two lines were paid out, one on each quarter, Jock tending one and Coles handling the other.
TheSpindriftwas now moving just at the right speed for this sort of work. In less than a minute a jerk of the line nearly pulled it out of the Tenderfoot's hand. Hauling in the line he secured a good-sized fish.
Coles caught a dozen before Findlay hooked his first fish, which puzzled and chagrined the latter considerably.
"Perhaps it's because my line is to lee'ard," suggested Coles. "Take mine, and I'll try my luck with yours!"
The exchange was effected, but still Coles was the lucky one. In less than an hour he had secured twenty-one mackerel to Findlay's four. Then, contrary to expectation, the breeze died utterly away, and the lines no longer trailed astern.
"We've caught enough, anyway," remarked Findlay, coiling away his lines.
"Yes, mackerel fresh from the salt sea for breakfast," added Desmond. "I'm jolly glad it's not my turn to be cook."
That post on board was no sinecure, and there was no competition for the job; but whoever took it did the work cheerfully and generally well. The Sea Scouts believed in the maxim: "a well fed crew makes a happy ship ".
For the next two hours theSpindrift'sprogress was tediously slow. Breakfast was cooked and eaten, and the plates and dishes washed up and stowed away, before the breeze sprang up; and Berry Head and the red cliffs of Devon were still plainly visible.
"Rather slower than when we passed here last time, sir, in theOlivette," remarked Desmond.
"But we've the best part of the day before us," Mr. Graham reminded him.
"We're afloat," declared Bedford. "That's the main thing."
He no longer had cause to complain of the cold. The day grew hotter and hotter as the sun rose and the wind dropped, till by ten o'clock the thermometer in the cabin registered 90 degrees.
So far theSpindriftwas not alone. She was in company with nearly twenty Brixham trawlers, all practically drifting. They made a pretty sight, with their huge tanned sails casting shimmering reflections on the gently heaving water.
At noon the wind sprang up again and quickly roseto a fresh sailing breeze from the sou'-west. Sheets were soon trimmed, and once more the "kick of the helm"—that delightful sensation to keen sailor-men—asserted itself.
It was not until four in the afternoon that Portland Bill became visible. It was now too late to attempt to round the Bill close to and make for Portland Harbour. To have attempted to do so would have resulted in the little craft being swept into the dreaded Race. Accordingly, a course was shaped to pass four miles south of that notorious headland.
As long as the breeze held, there was little to worry about; but should it fail, as it often does towards evening in summer, there was the prospect of another night afloat. Mr. Graham was anxious to make Swanage or even Poole Harbour. He did not hanker after another night in the Channel, but the Sea Scouts rather hoped for one.
The Brixham fleet was no longer in sight. The boats had stood well away to the south'ard. All around the horizon was unbroken, save to the east'ard, where the wedge-shaped Bill cut the skyline.
At tea-time all hands went below, with the exception of Bedford at the helm. There was now a fairly heavy sea running, for there was a weather-going tide.
In the midst of the meal there was a violent crash. The yacht heeled over on the opposite tack, nearlycapsizing the Sea Scouts on the port settee, and flinging most of the things off the table.
Instantly, there was a wild rush on deck. A scene of confusion met their eyes. The helmsman had let the yacht gybe all standing, and before he could check the main sheet the boom had flown violently against the set-up runners on the starboard side. The sudden shock had carried away that part of the gear, and the strain was thrown upon the mast. It had parted fifteen feet above the deck, letting mainsail and headsails down in utter confusion. The mizzen, being still set, was tending to turn the yacht head to wind, with the trailing canvas dragging over the bows.
It was not an occasion to demand or receive explanations. The first thing to be done was to get the yacht under control.
Under the Scoutmaster's directions, the broken-off portion of the mast was parbuckled on board and secured, and the headsails recovered and stowed. The next step was to set up temporary halliards and shrouds on the fractured mast, a difficult business owing to the erratic motion of the yacht.
Working quickly and well, Desmond and Findlay succeeded in passing three strops round the top of the broken mast and shackling blocks to them—two for'ard and one aft. Then the shrouds, shortened by means of sheepshanks, were sent aloft and secured sufficiently to take up a considerable amount of strain.
"Now we can set the headsail," announced Mr. Graham. "Take two reefs in the staysail, or you won't get it right home; and set No. 2 jib."
All hands were so busy that they failed to notice the approach of a steam drifter until she gave a warning blast on her syren. Slowing down, she drew within twenty yards of theSpindrift.
"Want a tow into Weymouth?" shouted her skipper.
Mr. Graham had to decide quickly. On the one hand he was responsible for the safety of the lads under his charge; on the other he did not like the idea of "chucking up the sponge" so quickly, especially as he would have to pay for the salvage. He glanced to wind'ard; the breeze was fair. The barometer was high and steady. It was a strong temptation when he looked from the disabledSpindriftto the powerful steam drifter.
"How much?" he asked.
"Twenty-five p'un," shouted the skipper.
"Don't do it, sir," said Desmond in a low voice. "We'll be all right without having to pay that."
"Sorry, nothing doing!" replied the Scoutmaster, then turning to the Patrol Leader he added: "Desmond, you're a brick!"
The skipper of the drifter pulled up the window of the wheelhouse with a savage jerk, that implied plainly enough what he thought of Mr. Graham.
"Carry on, lads!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Up with the staysail!"
As the flapping canvas rose, the skipper of the drifter lowered the pane and thrust his head through the window.
"Ahoy!" he bawled. "Make it twenty. It's 'ard earned money."
Mr. Graham shook his head.
"Fifteen, then; I likes to do a good turn to a fellow in distress."
"No, not for five pounds," shouted the Scoutmaster resolutely. "We don't want any assistance, thank you." The engine-room telegraph bell clanged, and the drifter began to draw astern. The crew of theSpindriftpaid slight attention to her: they were busy at their own job.
Under reefed staysail, the yacht paid off, and began to gather way. The setting of the jib helped still more, so that with three sails drawing well she began to make a good three knots.
"Now the mainsail," continued Mr. Graham. "We can't set the peak, so we must set it as a trysail. We'll have to double reef first, or we cannot hoist the throat close up."
"Look, sir! There's something wrong with that drifter!" exclaimed Coles.
All eyes were directed upon the would-be Good Samaritan (at a price). Her engines were stopped, butshe still carried way. Clouds of steam were issuing through the fidleys.
Raising his binoculars, Mr. Graham kept the vessel under observation. She was now about two cable lengths away, and slowing down steadily. Through the hatchway appeared the engineer, with his hands to his face and steam coming from his clothes.
"Main steam pipe burst," exclaimed Mr. Graham.
"She won't sink?" asked Hayes.
"No; she can set fore and aft sail. It's that poor fellow, the engineer, who has suffered by the accident. He looks badly scalded."
"First aid, sir?" asked Findlay hopefully.
"We'll ask them," was the reply. "Stand by to semaphore."
It was five minutes or more before Findlay attracted the attention of the skipper of the drifter.
"Do—you—require—first—aid?" semaphored Jock. The answer was emphatic if not to the point.
"You go to blazes!" was the message given by the irate skipper's arms.
By this time the drifter had set her headsails and mizzen, but theSpindriftwas gaining rapidly on her.
"It will be a race," declared Hayes. "We are beating her already, and we haven't our motor going."
"Wait till she sets her mainsail," said Desmond. "Then she'll show us her heels."
"We may as well set ours," added Mr. Graham."All reef points secured? Good—hoist away on your throat halliards."
The mainsail was set as a trysail, the peak lowered to its full extent. Even that comparatively small expanse of canvas made a difference, for the yacht quickly drew abreast of the drifter.
Up went the latter's mainsail. She too increased her pace, but it was soon evident that the under-canvased yacht more than held her own with her bulky rival, hampered as she was with the drag of her three-bladed propeller.
"We've company," observed Bedford, "although a surly fellow at that. Is he making for Weymouth, do you think, sir?"
"If he does, he'll have his work cut out to work up the east side of the Bill," replied Mr. Graham. "We won't risk it."
TheSpindrifthad now obtained and was holding a useful lead. An hour later she was a quarter of a mile ahead, with the drifter following dead in her wake. Portland Bill was abeam at last; the drifter starboarded helm and made towards the Shambles Lightship, while the yacht shaped a course for the distant St. Alban's Head.
"She's making for Weymouth by the east side of the Race," said the Scoutmaster. "More than likely she'll get a tow into harbour. Well, we've saved money this time."
The tide was now setting strongly to the east'ard. Under its favourable influence theSpindriftquickly reeled off the distance between the Bill and St. Alban's, passing through the Race off the latter headland without taking much water on board.
The wind had now veered a couple of points, and on rounding St. Alban's Head the change of direction of the coast line necessitated a close haul on the port tack if the yacht were to make Swanage or Poole.
Mr. Graham glanced at his watch, consulted the barometer, and took a survey of the sky to wind'ard.
"Lads!" he exclaimed. "We'll carry on for the Solent. We've four hours' fair tide, and with decent luck we'll be inside the Wight before dark."
"Good enough, sir!" agreed the crew in chorus.