CHAPTER XVIIBecalmed
Withall sail set, even the topsail and spinnaker, theKestreltore through the water, shaping a course to pass one mile to the south’ard of Hengistbury Head, a bold promontory situated roughly midway between Old Harry and the Needles.
TheMerlinwas no longer in sight. In vain Brandon, with a pair of binoculars, swung round his neck, went aloft, where, perched on the cross-trees, he brought his glasses to bear upon a limited expanse of horizon that showed between the straining canvas. He could see the brown sails of half a dozen fishing boats and the smoke of a steamer, but of the Cornish Sea Scouts’ craft not a sign.
“They’ve too good a pair of heels for us,” he remarked, when he regained the deck.
“What’s that?” asked Heavitree, pointing slightly on the starboard bow. “There’s something white. Isn’t that theMerlin’ssails?”
“I believe you’re right,” said Carline. “Only she’s a long way out. Let me have the glasses, Brandon.”
The Patrol Leader handed over the binoculars. Carline levelled them at the supposed cloud of canvas.
“Why, it’s a white cliff rising out of the sea,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, the Isle of Wight,” explained Brandon. “It puzzled me at first. From the cross-trees I could make out the Needles. If——”
A dull thud that shook the yacht from truck to keel interrupted the Patrol Leader’s words. For a brief instant theKestrelseemed to stop dead. It might have been only an illusion, but everyone on deck thought so.
“We’re aground!” exclaimed Talbot.
Brandon glanced over the side. The yacht was still carrying way and lifting easily to the waves.
“There’s plenty of water everywhere,” he replied. “We must have struck something, though.”
The jar brought Mr. Grant on deck to see what was amiss.
“We struck something pretty heavy,” he remarked. “Nip below, Peter, and look under the floorboards in the fo’c’sle. She may have strained a plank.”
Craddock did so. He had not been gone more than a few seconds when the reason of the alarm became evident. About a hundred yards on the starboard quarter an enormous porpoise broke surface, followed by another. Both animals were badly scared, for they promptly dived and were not seen again.
Presently Peter returned with the information that the yacht was as tight as a bottle. Thanks to her heavy build she had escaped damage, although a vessel with slighter scantlings might easily have had her bow planking stove in.
At length Hengistbury Head was brought abeam, and for ten minutes theKestrelhad a pretty stiff hammering over Christchurch Ledge. By this time the Needles and the multi-coloured cliffs of Alum Bay were clearly discernible, while right ahead rose the slender tower of Hurst Castle lighthouse.
“Look!” exclaimed Talbot. “Isn’t that theMerlin?”
He pointed to a yacht about three miles dead ahead. Brandon brought the binoculars into action.
“Yes, you’re right, Talbot,” he replied. “It is theMerlin. She’s becalmed.”
“Then, we may overhaul her yet,” said Wilson.
“She’ll use her motor,” declared Craddock.
“If they can get the thing to go,” added Brandon. “But it’s rather strange. Here we are busting along with every stitch of canvas drawing, and they haven’t a breath of wind. The sea’s as smooth as glass a mile ahead.”
As far as theKestrelwas concerned the breeze held strong and true until she drew within a hundred yards of the Cornish Sea Scouts’ craft. Then the wind failed utterly. In the grip of the now adverse tide both yachts began to lose ground. Ahead and only three miles away lay the Solent—looking alluring and peaceful in the rays of the late afternoon sun. Without the aid of a steady and favourable breeze or that of a powerful motor the two yachts were not likely to gain their desired harbour during the next six hours.
Keeping her now useless canvas set, theKestreldropped anchor. TheMerlincontinued to drift until she came abreast of the Aberstour Sea Scouts’ craft; then she, too, let go her anchor.
“You were lucky to carry a breeze so long,” shouted the Patrol Leader of theMerlin. “We’ve been becalmed for quite two hours. We got within a quarter of a mile of the lighthouse when the tide changed. Look where we are now!”
“Why didn’t you use your motor?” asked Craddock.
“We haven’t been able to get the thing going,” was the reply. “We’ve been trying all day, and we haven’t given up hope yet, although we do feel a bit fed up.”
“Can I give you a hand?” asked Peter, who possessed a sound knowledge of internal combustion engines.
“If you will,” replied the Cornish Patrol Leader.
Craddock jumped into the dinghy, cast off the painter, and rowed to theMerlin. It required a considerable amount of hard rowing, for the tide was now swirling past and the dinghy was large and heavy.
“What have you done?” he enquired, as he gained theMerlin’sdeck.
“Tried everything,” was the reply. “The mag.’s all right; there’s quite a healthy spark, but she won’t even fire her dope.”
Peter made the usual preliminary tests. Pouring a few drops of petrol into the plug and placing the latter on the cylinder, he found that the spirit ignited readily enough; but, as the Patrol Leader had said, the “dope” would not fire when the plug was in position.
“Tried a spare plug?” asked Craddock.
“Four—no good,” was the terse and emphatic reply.
Carefully overhauling the high-tension wire, Peter called attention to the fact that the insulation was rather worn at a spot where the wire crossed one of the bearers of the cockpit floor.
“Yes,” agreed the Cornish lad, “I noticed that; but if there is a short there’d be no spark at all. As it is, the plug has quite a healthy spark.”
“Well, try now,” suggested Craddock. “No; don’t replace the floorboards. Stand astride of the gap.”
At the first swing of the starting handle the motor fired and continued to do so, “ticking over” with the throttle only just open.
“Well, I’m dashed!” ejaculated theMerlin’sengineer. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” replied Peter. “Now replace the floorboards.”
As soon as the rectangular-shaped woodwork was placed in position the motor stopped.
“That beats me!” remarked the Patrol Leader.
“There’s your trouble,” declared Craddock, removing and overturning the floorboard. “See that steel plate?”
He pointed to the double strip of metal forming the edge of a slot to take the reversing lever.
“It’s bearing directly upon the high-tension wire, and the continual vibration has damaged the insulation. The motor fired when the floorboard was up, but when it was in position the metal touched the wire and caused a short circuit. Wrap some insulating tape round the wire—it would be as well to cut a notch in that beam to let the wire bed itself better—and you won’t have any more bother.”
“My word! You’re a smart fellow!” exclaimed the other, with frank admiration.
“Not at all,” protested Craddock. “You see, I had exactly the same trouble once on board our old boat, thePuffin, and I had to get another fellow to put it right.”
“ ’Tany rate, you’ve done a very Good Turn,” declared Mr. Pendennis. “We’ll try and return it by giving theKestrela tow. I don’t say that we’ll succeed against this tide, but we’ll have a good shot at it.”
The Falmouth Scoutmaster hailed theKestrel.
“I say, Grant!” he exclaimed. “We’re going to give you a tow. Do you know your way in? I don’t, except for the directions in the ‘Channel Pilot’; but which is Fort Victoria? Look here, do you mind coming on board and piloting us?”
Mr. Grant accepted the invitation. Craddock returned to theKestrel, and preparations were made to pass a hawser from theMerlinto the other yacht. Both anchors were weighed simultaneously and the strenuous effort began.
Slowly yet surely the two vessels approached Hurst Channel. Ahead could be seen a confused turmoil of broken sea as the pent-up water of the Solent forced its way through the narrow passage between Hurst Castle and the Isle of Wight.
It was now that local knowledge came in most usefully. Except for one point ominously named “The Trap,” the beach at Hurst Castle is steep-to, the depth increasing to fifteen fathoms within a few yards of the shore. By keeping close in, Mr. Grant knew that the full force of the tide would not only be avoided, but that there would also be found a tidal eddy in their favour.
“You can rely upon the motor, I hope?” he enquired. “If it should go wrong, we’ll find ourselves in a very dangerous situation.”
Receiving an assurance on that point, Mr. Grant ordered the helm to be starboarded a little.
Gradually the slow progress increased until, aided by the counter-current, theMerlinand theKestrelseemed to jump ahead. They were now within their own length of the beach. Ahead lay “The Trap,” and off it a broiling tide which, if it caught theMerlinon her port bow, would swing her out into the full strength of the ebb.
Edging cautiously, theMerlinapproached the crucial spot. She appeared to stop dead. The strain on the towing hawser eased. TheKestrelcontinued to decrease her distance, making straight for the dangerous ledge. To Brandon at the helm it seemed as if a titanic hand was gripping the keel and shaking the whole boat. He could do nothing. The rudder seemed useless, and yet the yacht was heading for destruction.
Suddenly theMerlinforged ahead. She had crawled past the dangerous point and was now aided by a favourable eddy. With a staggering jerk the hawser took up the strain. TheKestrelleapt ahead, her keel missing the steeply shelving ledge by inches.
In another five minutes both craft were stemming the relatively weak tide off the mud-flats of the Hampshire shore.
“Near thing that,” remarked Heavitree. “I thought we should have had to have jumped for it that time.”
“If we had, we should have stood as much chance as a mouse in a pail of water,” rejoined Brandon, glancing at the maelstrom astern. “Next time I think I’d rather wait till the tide turns.”
CHAPTER XVIIIThe Admiral
“What’sthat fellow staring at us for?” asked Talbot.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Symington carelessly, as he stooped to put a final polish on his shore-going boots. “It’s the thing to do afloat. Everyone does, and it’s taken as a sort of compliment to the craft you happen to be aboard.”
“But, just you look at him,” persisted Talbot.
It was the morning following the arrival of theKestreland theMerlinin Lymington River. Both craft were brought up on Long Reach and just above the second beacon. As the east-going tide would not run before the afternoon, and as it was almost a hopeless proposition to attempt to stem the adverse tide, the crews of both boats had arranged to go ashore in the forenoon, and were consequently “smartening themselves up” for the occasion.
Symington gave a casual glance. Then he looked a second time. Evidently Talbot’s wonder was justifiable, for breasting the ebb-tide was an open, centre-board sailing boat in the stern-sheets of which sat the only occupant.
He was a bronzed-complexioned man of about forty, with iron-grey hair and a white “torpedo” beard. His beetling brows were conspicuous by their long, white hairs, overhanging dark and deep-set eyes. He wore a blue reefer suit and a peaked cap cocked at a rakish angle over one eye. As Talbot had remarked, he was staring—although it looked more like a glare—straight at theKestrel.
TheKestrelhad anchored about fifty yards lower down the stream than theMerlin, and was in consequence nearer to the approaching boat.
Even as Symington looked the bearded man put his helm down with the evident intention of coming alongside.
“Someone to see you, sir!” he announced, addressing Mr. Grant, who had just finished shaving.
The rest of the crew of theKestrelcame on deck. Talbot and Carline stood by with fenders; Symington prepared to take the stranger’s painter; while the others lined up behind Mr. Grant, standing smartly at “alert.”
But instead of running alongside the man let his sheets fly, with the result that the boat lost way and, only just stemming the tide, remained practically level with theKestrel.
Then he stood up, almost bursting blood-vessels in his unaccountable anger.
“Confound you, sir!” he roared. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“ ’Fraid I don’t,” replied Mr. Grant mildly. “Unless,” he added cheerfully, “unless you are the harbour master.”
“Insolence, sir! Rank insolence!” blared the man. “Why don’t you salute? Why haven’t you dipped your ensign? I’m the Admiral commanding the Atlantic Fleet!”
For a moment the Scoutmaster was nonplussed. Obviously the enraged individual was a lunatic and possibly a dangerous one. The situation had to be handled delicately. The best thing to do, he decided, was to humour the man. Fortunately the crew had taken their cue from their Scoutmaster and had refrained from roaring with laughter.
“I am sorry, sir,” said Mr. Grant. “I failed to recognise you.”
“That’s no excuse,” stormed the man. “You’ve failed to pay proper respect to your commanding officer, sir! Consider yourself under arrest!”
“Very good, sir,” replied the Scoutmaster.
The while he was working out a very difficult problem. If the intruder were as fierce as he looked—and in spite of his age he was active and muscular—he was a positive danger. Perhaps before the united efforts of the Sea Scouts could place him under restraint he might inflict severe injuries on some of them. Handicapped by his injured hand, Mr. Grant realised that he could do little from a physical point of view.
On the other hand, he could not continue to temporise indefinitely. If Mr. Pendennis could be communicated with, without exciting the man’s suspicions, something might be done, for the Cornish Scoutmaster was a huge, hefty fellow with no small reputation as a wrestler in a county where wrestling as a sport holds a high position.
Just then the madman noticed that his boat was adrift. He had neglected to make fast the painter, and owing to his strange behaviour the Sea Scouts had not given the boat a thought. Already the little sailing craft, with her sails still out, was drifting to lee’ard.
“Quartermaster of the Watch!” shouted the intruder. “Who gave you orders to take my barge from the——”
He paused abruptly. In his disordered brain was a faint realisation that there was no accommodation ladder to this craft. Its absence puzzled him.
Suddenly he grasped Carline by the shoulder and hurled him overboard. It was done so swiftly and unexpectedly that no one had time to raise even a finger to attempt to prevent it; but the next instant Brandon and Craddock threw themselves upon the madman.
There was little room on the waterway for a struggle—merely a space of about thirty inches between the raised cabin-top and the side of the yacht; but in spite of limited surroundings the affray was a strenuous one.
To the credit of the two Sea Scouts it must be recorded that neither lost his temper, in spite of the fact that they had seen Carline tossed into the ditch.
The madman fought desperately, using his fists successfully. It was evident that he had been a trained boxer; yet there was wanting the necessary co-operation between the brain and his fists.
Contenting himself with parrying the man’s deliberate blows, the Patrol Leader kept his opponent busy while Craddock contrived to get behind the infuriated intruder. Then, gripping the man round his waist, Peter threw him on his back upon the cabin-top.
The struggle was not yet over. Again and again the maniac sought to regain his feet. Wrenching one arm free, he struck out. Brandon gripped him by the wrist and held on. Still the man resisted; yet notwithstanding his fury he made no effort to use his feet against his youthful antagonists.
He was visibly tiring. So were Brandon and Craddock, but not to such an extent. It was then that Heavitree joined in the fray. Deftly passing a rope round the madman’s ankle and taking a turn with the end to one of the runners, he soon had the man reduced to a state of helplessness; while Brandon completed the business by securing the fellow’s arms behind his back with his scarf.
Meanwhile one of the crew of theMerlinwho happened to be on deck had raised the alarm, and the yacht’s dinghy, manned by four Sea Scouts, with Mr. Pendennis in the stern-sheets, came at top speed towards theKestrel.
At the same time Carline was returning with the maniac’s boat. Finding himself overboard, the Sea Scout thought that since he was in the water he might just as well secure the drifting boat. This he did. Then, lowering the centre-board and trimming the sheets, he sailed the little craft alongside theKestreljust as theMerlin’sdinghy arrived upon the scene.
“Hello! What’s the trouble?” enquired Scoutmaster Pendennis.
Mr. Grant tapped his forehead significantly.
“Is that so?” continued the Cornishman. “Poor fellow! I wonder where he came from. As a matter of fact, I thought you’d had a visit from the escaped convict. Haven’t you heard? It’s in this morning’s paper. A prisoner got away from Parkhurst yesterday afternoon. It is supposed that he stole a boat and crossed to the mainland. There’s a boat missing at Yarmouth. Any damage done?”
Brandon and Craddock, breathing heavily, shook their heads. Heavitree had barked his knuckles in the struggle, but decided that “it was nothing to write home about.” The madman, exhausted by his efforts, was lying comparatively still, but apparently uninjured.
The rapid beats of a steamer’s paddles caused a general rush to fend off the boats lying alongside theKestrel. One of the passenger boats plying between Yarmouth and Lymington was coming up the river and throwing out a tremendous wash. Further down stream anchored yachts were rolling heavily in the breaking swell, while tons of water were receding from the mud-flats in advance of the quickly moving vessel.
As she passed, one of the passengers standing aft noticed the bound figure on theKestrel’sdeck and called his companions’ attention to it. Then, raising his hands trumpet-wise to his mouth, he shouted:
“We’ll come for him as soon as we can.”
The steamer continued on her way to the pier, leaving theKestrelrolling so heavily in her swell that Heavitree had to steady the helpless captive lest he should be jerked overboard.
Half an hour later a large rowing boat with a boatman and the two passengers from the steamer came alongside.
“So you’ve got him, sir,” said one of the latter. “I hope he didn’t give you much trouble.”
“Not much,” replied Mr. Grant. “Who is he?”
The attendant, for such he was, explained. The madman was an inmate of a private mental hospital a few miles from Yarmouth. Usually he was quite docile, but there were occasions when he became violent. More than once by a display of considerable cunning he had broken out of the establishment, and invariably he had made his way to the little seaport and had taken possession of an unattended boat.
“We guessed he’d be making for Lymington,” continued the man. “When I heard Mr. Lucas’s boat was missing, I said to my mate, ‘The Admiral’s up to his old trick again.’ We call him The Admiral, because he’s always under the delusion that he is one. Of course, the police must come to the conclusion that the boat was taken by the fellow who got away from Parkhurst yesterday, though I told them they were wrong. A desperate chap, six foot one such as he is, wouldn’t risk showing himself in Yarmouth, if he wanted to steal a boat. Glad we didn’t come across him when we were looking for The Admiral last night. He’s serving a long term for house-breaking with violence, and I don’t envy the policeman who has to tackle him. Well, sir, we’ll take charge of The Admiral, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind in the least,” replied Mr. Grant. “I suppose he won’t give trouble?”
“Bless you, no, sir!” declared the attendant. “He’ll be as quiet as a lamb. Come on, Admiral!” he continued, addressing the subject of his search. “There’s a rehearsal this afternoon, and what will happen if the first violin isn’t there?”
So saying, he removed the madman’s bonds and helped him to his feet. The unfortunate man stepped into the waiting boat as quietly as any ordinary individual.
“How about this?” enquired the Scoutmaster, pointing to the sailing boat.
“I’ll be along to take charge of her, sir,” said the boatman. “You won’t be getting under way afore the flood tide, I’ll allow?”
With the departure of the attendants and their charge, Mr. Pendennis prepared to return to his own craft.
“We won’t be starting before two o’clock, I suppose,” he remarked. “We’ll carry our tide right through to Chichester. Ought to get there by eight with the breeze. By the way, how’s that hand of yours, Grant? Oughtn’t you to see a doctor and get it lanced?”
“No need,” replied Mr. Grant. “The poison’s out and the wound is healing nicely. It will be all right in a day or so. Now, lads! Who’s for the shore?”
CHAPTER XIXThe Convict
If,on leaving Lymington River, theKestrelhadn’t run on the mud; if the tide had not changed and the wind fallen light; and if theMerlinhad not run out of petrol: then the Sea Scouts might have found themselves at the rendezvous for the Jamboree at eight o’clock that evening.
It was a combination of adverse circumstances. Running theKestrelaground was excusable but hardly avoidable. Many a yachtsman with local knowledge has done much the same, for the beacons, instead of marking the edge of the channel, are some distance away from it and well up on the mud. TheKestrel“took the putty” badly and, in spite of theMerlin’sefforts to tow her off, she remained there for nearly two hours.
The change of the direction of the tidal stream and the dropping of the wind, which finally backed to due east, were conditions for which the Sea Scouts could not be held responsible; but the same could not be said in excuse for theMerlinrunning out of petrol.
As a matter of fact, the Sea Scout in charge of the motor had examined the gauge of the petrol tank, which registered eight gallons. Unfortunately the indicator had stuck, and the actual amount when theMerlinwent to her consort’s assistance was only one gallon. It was nownil.
This discovery was made when the two yachts were abreast of Egypt Point and within a mile or so of Cowes Harbour. In vain they attempted to beat up for that anchorage. Gripped by the steadily increasing foul tide they were rapidly swept down the Solent until, realising that any further efforts would only result in their being carried more to the west’ard, they dropped anchor off Newtown River.
“There’s a hamlet called Newtown and another place called Shalfleet,” observed Mr. Pendennis, after consulting the chart. “We may be able to get petrol at one of them. Are any of your fellows coming ashore with us?”
“We may as well go if we leave a couple of hands to look after the yachts,” replied Mr. Grant. “The glass is steady and the tide won’t change for another five hours. It’s good holding ground, and there’s no fear of either craft dragging her anchor. Right-o! Who’ll volunteer to remain?”
Craddock and Heavitree offered to act as ship-keepers. Two Cornish Sea Scouts also elected to stay on board theMerlin. The others manned the two dinghies and prepared to make for the mouth of the river.
“How about Molly?” asked Brandon. “Shall we take her?”
The pup showed such a disinclination to go in the boat that she was left behind. Usually she was quite excited at the sight of the dinghy being manned, and was one of the first to scramble over the gunwale. But that was only when Craddock was to form one of the party. She was fond of everyone on board, even Eric Little; but she was devoted to Peter. Where he went she would go, but if he remained on board it required forcible abduction to get the pup into the boat.
Left to themselves, Craddock and Heavitree had quite an enjoyable afternoon. They fished, exchanged semaphore and Morse messages with theMerlin’sship-keepers, wrote letters, and watched passing shipping.
Six o’clock came, but there were no signs of the two dinghies. The Sea Scouts had tea, washed up and stowed away the things, and came on deck again. Still the absent members of the two crews failed to put in an appearance.
“What’s happened to the others?” asked Peter, hailing theMerlin.
“Perhaps they can’t find a garage or a place where they sell petrol,” replied one of the Falmouth lads. “I’ve been aloft to look, but there’s only a small part of the harbour to be seen. It runs away behind that hill to the right of the entrance.”
“More likely they are high and dry on the mud,” added Heavitree. “Ah, well! We aren’t lonely, and we aren’t idle. I’ve caught enough fish for supper for all hands.”
“If they are aground they can hardly be blamed for that,” continued the Cornish Sea Scout. “These tides are fair puzzlers. Down our way we’re satisfied with two tides a day; here people get four.”
Craddock agreed. It was his first experience of the coast between Cowes and Weymouth, where a second high water follows the first at anything from two to four hours later. He had also been used to a rise and fall of about eighteen feet. Here the range of tide seemed to be about six feet.
At sunset the main ebb was almost done. TheKestrel, anchored nearer in shore than theMerlin, was within fifty yards of the now exposed gravel banks. Taking soundings, Peter found that the depth was a fathom and a half.
“So we won’t ground at low tide,” he remarked to his chum. “There’s nothing to worry about. Let’s go below and make ourselves snug. It’s pretty nippy this evening.”
Having lighted the riding-lamp and hoisted it on the forestay the two lads retired to the saloon. Soon they were making a literary feast, devouring the pages of their favourite weekly paper. Breathlessly they followed the fearfully exciting adventures. The flight of time passed unheeded. They had almost forgotten their immediate surroundings in visualising a stalwart sergeant riding hot-foot across the boundless prairie in close pursuit of a much-wanted desperado.
Suddenly, Molly gave a low growl.
“Quiet, little girl!” exclaimed Peter.
But the pup refused to keep still. Clambering up the three broad steps leading from the saloon to the cockpit, she changed her growl to a succession of shrill barks of defiance.
“What’s up, I wonder?” remarked Heavitree, coming back to earth, or rather to his floating home. “Are the others returning?”
“Don’t think so,” replied Peter, preparing to go on deck. “Molly’s welcome is very different from that.”
On gaining the cockpit Craddock stared in bewilderment. It was some moments before he grew accustomed to the change from the well lighted cabin to the faint moonlight. When he did he was all the more puzzled, for, instead of land showing a few hundred yards to starboard, there was nothing but an expanse of sea dotted with the flashing light of numerous buoys. Then he looked to port. There was the land—the low-lying ground to the east of the entrance of Newtown River. He had completely ignored the fact that theKestrelhad swung to the young flood tide.
“What is it, Molly?” he asked.
The pup, crouching with her forepaws planted against the low rail, was barking furiously at a dark object floating in the water at less than ten yards from the yacht’s bows. In the faint moonlight Craddock saw that it was a basket drifting bottom upwards.
“That’s nothing, pup,” declared the lad. “Haven’t you seen a drifting basket before?”
But Molly would not be silenced. She seemed to be fascinated by the derelict wickerwork.
Then Craddock began to be interested, too. And for a very good reason: the basket was not drifting with the tide. It was moving decidedly against it and slowly yet surely approaching theKestrel’sbows.
“Come on deck, old man,” said Peter to his chum, in a low voice; but Heavitree, who had resumed his absorbing pastime, either did not hear or did not want to.
Presently the basket disappeared from Peter’s range of vision. From where he was standing in the cockpit he could not see the surface of the water in the vicinity of the yacht’s bows. He heard the rasping of the wickerwork against theKestrel’sside, and once more the basket appeared in view, bobbing astern and now drifting naturally with the tide.
Molly’s bark grew louder and shriller. She had lost all interest in the basket and was directing her attention to something under the bows.
Before Craddock could go for’ard to investigate, the dripping head and shoulders of a man appeared above the rail. Then, obtaining a foothold on the bobstay, the intruder swung himself on the fore-deck, stood up, and steadied himself by means of the forestay.
“Get that there dawg of yourn out of it afore I ’as to ’urt it,” he growled.
In the semi-darkness the stranger seemed to tower to a great height. Actually he was well over six feet, though narrow across the chest. He was clean-shaven, and wore an overcoat that was many inches too short for him. He was bare-legged, and it looked as if he were wearing shorts. Water drained steadily from his meagre and saturated garments.
“Come here, Molly!” exclaimed Peter, fearful lest the intruder should carry out the alternative he had mentioned.
The pup still refused.
The man, stooping suddenly, grasped the animal by the scruff of the neck and stepped aft as far as the mainmast.
“Ketch!” he said laconically. “Don’t want to ’urt no dawg, I don’t.”
With that he tossed the pup into Craddock’s hands, throwing her so gently that, beyond being frightened, no harm was done to her.
“Naw,” continued the intruder, “me an’ you are goin’ for a nice little cruise-like. ’Tain’t no use kickin’. I’ve been a-watchin’ yer, an’ I knows there’s only two of you. Ask for no trouble an’ you’ll get none. Got me?”
Just then Heavitree, hearing voices, was about to come on deck. To him Peter handed the pup.
“Lock her up and get back here as soon as you can,” he whispered.
Then he addressed the intruder. Already he had no doubt as to the fellow’s identity. The ill-fitting overcoat failed to conceal a rough suit of grey cloth liberally bedecked with broad arrows. Obviously this was the convict under sentence for robbery with violence, and in all probability he would not hesitate to take desperate measures to prolong his spell of liberty. Yet, Peter recalled, he had been gentle with a dumb animal even though Molly had attempted to snap at his gnarled fingers.
“What do you want?” demanded the Sea Scout. “It’s no use coming here.”
“Isn’t it, my young pal?” replied the convict. “That’s for me to say. Now look ’ere: all I want is a bite o’ food an’ summat to drink. Then I’ll trouble you to ’and over any clothes belongin’ to that tall bloke I seed go ashore this arternoon. Then you’ll put me across t’other side an’ you’ll get my best thanks. If you don’t——’Ere, you, get down out of it. You won’t be wanted this trip.”
The latter remarks were addressed to Heavitree, who having placed Molly out of harm’s way had come out of the saloon to “join in the argument,” as he expressed it. Far from complying with the convict’s demands he went to stand beside Craddock and unobtrusively unshipped a heavy belaying-pin. “Get out of it!” repeated the convict. Heavitree raising his arm resolutely remained where he was. Craddock gave one glance in the direction of theMerlin. No one was to be seen on her deck. More than likely her two ship-keepers were amusing themselves below. In any case, there was not much likelihood of help in that direction. The two Sea Scouts on the Cornish yacht were without a dinghy, and being further out in the tideway, they would run a serious risk of being carried away if they attempted to swim to the aid of their brother-Scouts on theKestrel. If Peter and Heavitree were to “win through,” they would evidently have to do so on their own merits.
Realising this, Craddock picked up the boat-hook which was lying on the waterways by the side of the cockpit coaming. It was a formidable weapon, consisting of about eight feet of stout ash pole terminating in a combined point and hook of galvanised iron.
Armed resistance was one of the last things the miscreant had counted upon. He had staked his chances upon the likelihood of being able to overawe a couple of lads, but he had failed to estimate correctly the physical and moral fibre of the average Sea Scout. As a general rule, the burglar who employs brute force when dealing with a weak and terrified householder is an arrant coward, easily terrified when threatened with corporal punishment. When he finds that “the game is up,” he will refrain from violence because he knows that on conviction his sentence will be far heavier than if he had contented himself solely with ordinary house-breaking. On the other hand, if he thinks he can get clear he will not hesitate to stun or wound the person who attempts his capture.
The convict hesitated. He did not like the look of the business end of the boat-hook, the staff of which was held in a pair of firm, steady hands. Nor did he relish the probability of a crack across the head from the serviceable lump of iron which Heavitree gripped in readiness.
“Be reasonable, chums!” he whined. “ ’Ere’s a pore bloke wrongfully convicted who’s got a chance to get clear. Be sports an’ give him a ’elping ’and.”
“We will,” agreed Peter grimly. “We’ll give the police a helping hand, so you’d better surrender and give no further trouble.”
“S’pose I’d better,” rejoined the convict sullenly. “I sees myself back in quod, ’cause ’ere come your pals in their boat.”
Instinctively the two Sea Scouts turned their heads to follow the direction of the crafty rogue’s glance. It was exactly what the convict hoped they would do.
In a trice he leapt across the cabin-top. Before Peter could recover his guard the fellow was within the wavering point of the boat-hook. The next instant he grasped Heavitree’s right wrist, rendering the belaying-pin useless as a weapon either of defence or offence.
But there was one thing he forgot. Accustomed to having a dry and comparatively unyielding solid ground, he was quite unused to the motion of a vessel. Even a forty-foot yacht responds perceptibly to the weight of a person moving on deck. In his wild onslaught he lost his balance. His bare feet slipped on the wet painted canvas of the cabin-top. He fell heavily, bringing Heavitree down with him.
In vain Heavitree tried to get in his terrible upper cut to the point. The convict’s face seemed as if it were made of metal. He gave a grunt as the Sea Scout’s fist jolted his chin, then with a quick movement his fingers closed upon the lad’s throat.
For a moment Craddock was unable to distinguish friend from foe in the deep shadows of the cockpit. Then he heard his chum’s choking cry as he gasped for breath. Snatching another belaying-pin from the rack, Peter brought the iron bar down with considerable force upon the back of the convict’s closely cropped head.
The man seemed to crumple up. He subsided inertly across the body of the Sea Scout he had tried to choke into insensibility.
Extricating Heavitree from his decidedly unpleasant situation, Peter set his chum down upon one of the seats in the cockpit. For several minutes, Heavitree could do nothing but gasp, swallowing mouthfuls of the pure ozone-laden air, until his companion grew alarmed.
“It’s all right, I think,” spluttered Heavitree. “I don’t think I’m hurt much, but I feel like a jelly. What’s happened to the chap? You haven’t killed him?”
“Hardly,” replied Peter. “His skull is too thick for that. I gave him a tap to quiet him. Hello! more of them?”
A pair of hands appeared over the side of the yacht, followed by a head. It was one of the crew of theMerlin. Alarmed by the commotion on board theKestrel, he had boldly dived overboard and swum to the aid of his brother-Scouts. It was a risky thing to do, and by the time he had battled against the strong flood tide he was nearly exhausted. Peter assisted the lad on board and explained matters.
“My word!” exclaimed the Cornish lad. “This is some trip! We can’t say the voyage has been dull, can we? Cheerful looking fellow, isn’t he? Hadn’t we better secure him before he comes round?”
“He looks as if he is about to recover consciousness,” said Peter.
“In that case we’ll get busy,” rejoined theMerlin’srepresentative. “There’s no need to lash him up. Let me show you how we do things down our way.”
So saying, the Cornish Sea Scout picked up the mop which was lying on deck.
“Got another stick like this?” he asked.
Craddock produced a spare handle from one of the lockers.
“Capital!” exclaimed the other approvingly, and set to work to secure the still insensible man. This he did by inserting one handle in one leg of the convict’s shorts and passing lashings round both the knee and the ankle. The other leg was dealt with similarly, with the result that one end of each mop handle projected about six inches beyond the man’s feet, while, since he would be unable to bend his lower limbs, he would be unable to rise.
“We’ll secure his wrists later,” remarked the Cornish lad. “We must give the fellow a chance to recover.”
“Hello!” exclaimed Heavitree. “Oars!”
The others listened intently. Above the gentle sighing of the wind in the yacht’s rigging came the sound of the regular beats of oars. The long-absent Sea Scouts with their respective Scoutmasters were returning.
“Got any grub ready, Peter?” shouted Brandon, when within hailing distance. “We’re famishing.”
“Sorry, old son,” replied Craddock, “but we’ve been too busy entertaining. Matter of fact, sir,” he continued, addressing Mr. Grant, “we’ve a convict on board. What shall we do with him?”
CHAPTER XXThe Last Lap
“Wedon’t want him,” declared Mr. Grant. “Why didn’t you signal to the shore? The place is stiff with warders and other people searching for him. Well, what happened?”
While Craddock was relating the somewhat alarming incident Brandon got busy with his electric torch. It was not long before his “general call” was acknowledged, and a message to the effect that the convict had been recaptured and was on board was flashed for the information of the search party.
Back came the reply: “Thanks. Will send boat to fetch him at once.”
“And what happened to you chaps?” asked Heavitree.
“We got stuck in the mud—properly,” admitted Brandon ruefully. “I never saw such a place for mud. We tried to land at one place and couldn’t. Then we went on and found an old wharf. Talbot remained as boat-keeper for both dinghies while the rest of us tramped into Shalfleet. By the time we had looked round and Mr. Pendennis had bought the petrol we found both boats high and dry. Talbot did his best to keep them afloat, but it was of no use. In fact, he stuck twenty yards from shore, and the mud was so soft that he couldn’t get back. He’s been sitting in the dinghy for hours. We had had some grub, and now we’re frightfully hungry. Talbot hasn’t had anything to eat since we pushed off from theKestrel.”
Already the stove was lighted and preparations under way for a belated meal. Presently, following a hail of “Yacht ahoy!” a large rowing boat with two boatmen and four armed warders came alongside.
The convict, who was now conscious, was transhipped. The head warder asked for particulars.
“Smart bit of work,” he declared admiringly, when Craddock had told his plain, unvarnished tale. “He’s a desperate character with a black record. Well, young man, you’ve jolly well earned the reward offered for his apprehension.”
Peter shook his head.
“We don’t want it, do we, Heavitree?” he replied. “It’s too much like blood-money.”
“Nonsense,” declared the warder. “You’re entitled to it. You’ve rendered a public service.”
“S’pose that’s one way of looking at it,” admitted the lad. “All the same, I don’t like the idea of touching the money. As a matter of fact, Molly earned it as much as we did. Couldn’t we give the reward to that Society for—you know what I mean, sir?”
“ ‘Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.’ Yes, that’s rather a good wheeze, Peter,” agreed the Scoutmaster. “Well, now, it’s quite about time this party broke up.”
Taking the hint, the warders removed their prisoner, who accepted the situation philosophically, especially as Craddock and Heavitree had made no mention to the authorities of the fact that he had used violence.
“He didn’t hurt our pup, so we simply felt we had to let him down lightly,” explained Peter.
Very soon the crew of theKestrelwere deep in slumber. They did not turn out till late in the forenoon for two reasons. They wanted to arrive at Chichester Harbour “as fresh as paint”; it was practically useless to attempt to set sail until the west-going tide eased considerably. By this time the Aberstour Sea Scouts had learnt to respect the fierce tides of the Solent.
When the lads did turn out, Brandon went on deck to haul down the riding-light. Then, to his surprise, he discovered that theMerlinwas nowhere to be seen.
“She’s stolen a march on us on the last lap,” declared Heavitree when the Patrol Leader announced the astonishing news.
“Well, she hasn’t got far,” added Carline. “Unless, of course, she’s made use of her motor.”
“We would have heard it,” remarked Craddock. “Her exhaust is a very noisy affair.”
“Perhaps they thought that we gave them the slip at Falmouth,” suggested Talbot. “One or two of the fellows looked a bit doubtful, as if we were pulling their legs, when we explained how it happened. So they’re taking a rise out of us.”
“Stop arguing!” exclaimed Brandon. “Don’t go hanging on to the slack, but get your breakfasts. The sooner we get under way the better.”
By the time the meal had been dispatched and everything below made ship-shape the tide had slackened. There was a light southerly breeze which would enable theKestrelto romp full and bye up the Solent, and, unless the wind changed in direction, would take her to Chichester Bar without having to tack. It was now nine o’clock. High water at Spithead would occur at four, and if theKestrelwere to make the rendezvous that day, she must arrive off the bar not later than five.
All plain sail was set, the anchor was weighed, and then main and mizzen topsails were sent aloft. Finally, the spinnaker was set with the tack at the bowsprit-end. In fact, every stitch of canvas that could be set was brought into use.
It was a delightful sail. On the starboard hand the crew could enjoy a close view of the well-wooded Isle of Wight, while to port they could discern an expanse of the New Forest and the entrance to Southampton Water.
Through Cowes Roads theKestreltore with wind and tide. Here they saw for the first time the Mecca of the yachting world with its swarm of pleasure craft of all sizes and types either anchored or under way. Sailing yachts, motor craft, pleasure steamers thronged the Roads; while further out liners, tramps, and warships added to this picture of merchant activity. There were aeroplanes and flying boats manœuvring, the latter “taking off” from the surface of the water with surprising ease.
Just abreast of the Old Castle Point buoy, Brandon called attention to a couple of cutters, both of which flew the burgee with thefleur de lys. They were on a converging course to that of theKestrel, and in all probability they would soon come within hailing distance.
But Brandon did not wait for that. Producing a pair of hand flags, he proceeded to semaphore the approaching craft.
“They are Sea Scouts making for the Jamboree, sir,” he announced. “One is from Poole, the other from Weymouth. I’ll ask them if they’ve seen theMerlinpass, since they brought up in Cowes Harbour last night.”
The reply was in the negative; but, the Poole cutter’s signaller added, a large motor yacht passed making for the east’ard with two Sea Scouts’ galleys in tow.
“It looks as if we’re going to be a merry party,” observed Symington. “All roads lead to Chichester Harbour. . . . What’s that place, sir?”
He pointed to a large building flanked by two towers and standing on a hill covered with grass of a remarkably vivid hue.
“That’s Osborne House,” replied the Scoutmaster. “It used to be a royal residence. Queen Victoria died there. See that long pier ahead, Talbot? That’s Ryde Pier. Steer to pass about a quarter of a mile from its head. We’re moving, by Jove! At this rate we’ll soon make Chichester Harbour.”
The three yachts were now almost in line, theKestrelbeing to wind’ard. They were keeping practically level. If anything, theKestrelwas gaining slightly.
“We’re showing them a clean pair of heels, sir!” remarked Talbot, with no uncertain display of satisfaction.
“Yes, because this wind suits us,” replied Mr. Grant. “If it headed us, and we had to beat to wind’ard, they’d whack us hollow. A ketch is no match for a cutter at that game, so I wouldn’t chip those fellows if I were you. They might have the laugh of us before very long.”
“There’s a rowing boat with a Scout flag over there, sir,” reported Craddock.
Mr. Grant levelled his glasses. A double-sculler manned by three lads in Sea Scouts’ rig was coming out of Wootton Creek. She had just drawn clear of the outer beacon and was pointing towards Ryde.
“Surely those chaps aren’t going to the Jamboree,” remarked Peter. “Not in that cockleshell.”
“They’ve a lot of gear in the boat,” declared Mr. Grant. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they are making for Chichester Harbour.”
“It’s a long way to row,” added Brandon tentatively.
“Down helm a bit,” ordered Mr. Grant. “We’ll see if they are bound there. If so, we’ll offer them a tow.”
Rapidly theKestreloverhauled the boat. The crew of the latter continued to pull steadily.
“Where are you bound?” hailed the Patrol Leader, as the ketch drew near.
“Chichester.”
“Want a tow?”
“Yes, rather.”
The oarsmen boated their oars, the bowman coiling up the painter ready to make a cast.
Brandon was too experienced to attempt to pick up the boat with theKestrelgoing at such a speed. Making a wide sweep, he brought the ketch head to wind within an oar’s length of the frail double-sculler.
“Hadn’t we better get them all on board, sir?” enquired the Patrol Leader. “The skiff will tow lighter and easier if we do.”
In double quick time the three Sea Scouts boarded theKestrel. Their boat, with a double painter rove as a matter of precaution, was dropped astern of theKestrel’sdinghy and the ketch was again put on her former course. By this time the Weymouth and Pool cutters had drawn ahead to a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile; but, sportsman-like, they had backed their head-sails to enable theKestrelto recover her lead.
“You fellows looked like having a long pull,” remarked Craddock to the three youths whose jerseys bore the inscription, “Third Wootton Bridge Sea Scouts.” “Bit risky, isn’t it?”
“We weren’t going to be out of it,” explained the Second. “Our Troop left yesterday in thePixie. We couldn’t get away. I work at a garage. Jim, here, is at a baker’s; and Tim has a job at the yacht-yard. At the last lap, so to speak, we got the time off, and Tim’s boss lent us this double-sculler.”
“You might have found yourselves in difficulties off Chichester Bar,” observed Mr. Grant. “There’s often a nasty sea running there, I believe.”
“Yes, sir,” admitted the Second. “But we weren’t going to risk that in that sort of boat. We were going to row as far as Ryde, where the skipper of a motor tug promised to tow us across to Portsmouth.”
“I don’t see how that would help you very much,” commented the Scoutmaster. “You would still have to get into Chichester Harbour.”
“Inland water all the way, sir,” declared the lad. “There’s a channel between Portsmouth and Langston Harbour, and another between Langston and Chichester. It’s all right for small boats, but you couldn’t do it because of the bridges, unless you unship your masts.”
Past a couple of “scrapped” monitors, the unwieldy appearance and huge guns of which afforded considerable interest to theKestrel’screw, the ketch tore through the water. Off Ryde they sighted two other craft—a yawl and a converted lifeboat—both of which bore the distinguishing flag of the Sea Scout brotherhood.
“Now, where do we make for, sir?” asked Brandon.
“Steer for that fort,” replied Mr. Grant, indicating a circular structure painted in black and yellow squares and rising sheer out of the sea.
“Is that a fort?” enquired Talbot. “It looks more like a gigantic cheese. Why, there are two more!”
“Yes, and we have to pass between the pair,” continued the Scoutmaster. “See that low-lying belt of trees? That’s Hayling. The entrance to Chichester Harbour is just beyond.”
Presently half a dozen sailing craft were noticed on the port quarter. These comprised the Portsmouth and Gosport contingent of Sea Scouts, while astern a couple of motor launches each towing two whalers announced their identity as part of Southampton’s representation at the forthcoming Jamboree.
By this time there were nearly twenty yachts and boats within a radius of half a mile all making for a common point—the entrance to Chichester Harbour. Many Sea Scout craft had already arrived. Others were on the way, not only from the West, but from the East Coast. Provided the weather held, the success of the Jamboree seemed assured.
“Well, thank goodness we’re not leading the procession,” exclaimed Mr. Grant. “I’ll gladly allow someone else to show us the way in. From all accounts it’s a very tricky and badly marked entrance, so we must be thankful we haven’t to grope and scrape over the Bar.”
“I can’t see any entrance,” said Craddock.
Viewed from seaward the coast-line appeared to consist of an unbroken line of low-lying, sandy shore with a few houses and trees, extending eastward as far as the eye could reach until only the tree-tops showed above the horizon in the neighbourhood of Selsea Bill. Ahead, as theKestrelwas now pounding, were masses of white foam as the rollers broke on the flat shoals of the dangerous Winners. Yet the leading craft held unswervingly on their course, as if they meant to hurl themselves to destruction upon those formidable surf-swept sandbanks.
Presently a small white motor boat was sighted ahead and quite a mile from the beach. She, too, displayed the Scout burgee, and as each approaching craft drew level with her a uniformed official shouted directions to the newcomers.
“What yacht is that?” demanded the Commissioner as theKestreldrew near. “Where are you from? Good. What’s your draught? Four feet; then you’ve plenty of water. Keep close to the west shore inside the entrance until you sight a buoy on your starboard hand. Then port helm and carry on up the boomed channel.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” replied Mr. Grant, and the motor boat forged ahead to interview the next arrival and to tell her to heave-to until the tide made sufficiently for her draught to cross the bar.
“What a topping place!” exclaimed Craddock enthusiastically.
His appreciation was justifiable; for, although the approach to Chichester Harbour presents a dreary aspect, the view when once within its shelter is superb; while the spacious land-locked expanse with its three principal arms afforded miles of safe yet entrancing sailing.
After following a well-marked channel for about three miles and making a gentle bend to starboard, the leading craft began to reduce canvas.
TheKestrelfollowed suit; then a regular forest of masts appeared to occupy the whole width of the waterway, while ashore a small village of tents accommodated those Sea Scouts whom circumstances had prevented from living and sleeping afloat. Conspicuous amongst the floating community was a large yacht flying the characteristic burgee of the Chief Sea Scout, and displaying the International Code Signal: KY—“Anchor as convenient.”
Five minutes later, theKestrelbrought up on the fringe of the fleet and well sheltered by the curving arms of a sandy bay. Eighty yards or so away was a little pier fronting the lines of tents and affording means of landing at any state of the tide. Canvas was then stowed and ropes coiled away. Then for the first time the crew of theKestrelwere at leisure to take in the animated scene.
Suddenly Heavitree turned and smacked Craddock on the shoulder.
“Peter, old son!” he exclaimed joyously, “aren’t you thunderingly glad you’re a Sea Scout?”