Home Again
When Peter came to himself he was lying on the wet sand with his head
pillowed on a greatcoat. Something warm was licking his face. It was
Molly. Overjoyed at her master’s return, she could not be restrained
from showing her joy and relief in true doggie fashion, and her delight
redoubled when the Sea Scout opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.
“Good old Peter!” exclaimed Brandon. “How do you feel?”
“As if I’d been sand-papered,” replied Craddock, with perfect
truthfulness. Then, recalling the reason for his present plight, he
asked, “Where’s the fellow we rescued? Is he dead?”
“He’s alive,” declared the Patrol Leader, and, turning to Mr. Grant, he
asked in a low voice, “Can I tell him?”
“Yes, do,” answered the Scoutmaster.
“Do you know who the fellow is?” continued Brandon. “It’s Carlo
Bone—Blueskin.”
Peter sat up.
“Really?” he rejoined. “Where is he?”
“In a farm-house with the others,” replied the Patrol Leader. “All the
crew of the vessel have been accounted for. The patrols are being
withdrawn. I say, old man, can you walk or have we to carry you?”
“I’ll walk,” declared Craddock stoutly.
They assisted him to his feet. He felt rather groggy, for he had
swallowed a fair quantity of salt water and had been considerably
bruised in his struggle with the waves. Walking required a great effort,
and he was glad to take his chum Brandon’s arm.
“I reckon this night’s work means a Silver Cross for you, my lad,”
declared Heavitree.
“Think so?” rejoined Peter. “I say; now I tumble to it. That bucket
lashed to our rudder. Blueskin must have done that. Won’t he look bluer
than he is when he finds out we know.”
And Craddock went off into fits of hysterical laughter and sat down
inertly in a muddy lane.
The Sea Scouts carried him after that.
They did not take him on board that night. Instead, he was put to bed in
the shore hospital tent, where Mr. Grant remained watching by his side.
Next morning Peter awoke feeling quite his normal self except for the
fact that his limbs were a bit stiff.
That afternoon Peter, accompanied by Mr. Grant, Brandon, and Heavitree,
went over to see the man he had rescued. The visit was paid at
Blueskin’s request, for the man was really grateful. Nevertheless the
expression on his face was one of comical dismay when he recognised the
members of the _Kestrel’s_ crew.
“I’m right down sorry I played the dirty on yer,” he declared.
“That’s all right,” replied Mr. Grant. “We’ll call the account square.
But why did you?”
“It’s like this ’ere,” explained Blueskin. “I war fair upset when I
found you’d bought that there boat. I wanted ’er, and seein’ as I didn’t
get ’er, I sort o’ made up my mind no one else shouldn’t. I oughtn’t tu
’ave tried to set she afire, but I reckoned as you’d get out afore any
’arm was done yer.”
“Neither was there, fortunately,” added the Scoutmaster. “But we didn’t
know you were the fellow. We thought you might be, so we kept watch on
your house all night.”
“I knows you did,” agreed Blueskin. “You were outside my house when I
got ’ome.”
“And how did you manage that?” asked Peter.
Blueskin gave the suspicion of a wink.
“That’s tellin’,” he answered oracularly. “But I’m a-goin’ straight
arter this, I am,” he declared.
“Good!” exclaimed Craddock. “We hope you will. But I think you can
answer my question: isn’t there an underground passage between old Dick
Marner’s shed and your cottage?”
For a moment Blueskin looked thunderstruck.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Sure there is. ’Ow did you twig it? Sakes alive! A
chap like me must get up very early in t’mornin’ tu get to wind’ard of a
Sea Scout, I’m thinkin’.”
“How did you find out about the secret tunnel?” asked Brandon of his
chum after the interview with Carlo Bone.
“I didn’t,” replied Peter. “It was a guess on my part. I’d been thinking
things over, and, like Mr. Grant got it out of young Marner that he
hadn’t a motor bike, that rather confirmed my theory, although, of
course, I might have been wide of the mark.”
Little more remains to be told.
The Jamboree ran its course in perfect weather and with unabated
enthusiasm. At its termination, Eric Little was sent to his uncle’s
house at Chichester, where life for him was considerably brightened by
his being able to have friends of his own age. He lost no time in
becoming a Cub.
After the termination of the Sea Scouts’ marine festival, the assembly
of yachts and boats dispersed. The _Kestrel_ got away in company with
nearly a dozen craft bound for the eastern part of the English Channel
and the East Coast. Three days later she entered Aberstour Harbour and
made fast alongside the quay in the berth the old _Puffin_ had so long
occupied.
“We’ve had a topping time,” declared Heavitree, as the crew prepared to
disperse to their respective homes. “Course we’ve had sticky times, too;
but what’s the use of being Sea Scouts if we don’t know how to tackle
them?”
“We haven’t done so badly,” admitted Craddock cautiously. “We’re here,
safe and sound, that’s the main point. And I don’t think it’s entirely
owing to good luck. I rather fancy there’s another reason, and a jolly
good one.”
“What’s that?” enquired his chum.
“We’ve kept to the good old Scout’s motto: ‘Be Prepared.’”
THE END
T H E I A N H A R D Y S E R I E S
BY
COMMANDER E. HAMILTON CURREY, R.N.
_Each Volume with Illustrations in Colour. 5s. nett._
Ian Hardy’s career in H.M. Navy is told in four volumes, which
are described below. Each volume is complete in itself, and no
knowledge of the previous volumes is necessary, but few boys
will read one of the series without wishing to peruse the
others.
IAN HARDY, NAVAL CADET
“A sound and wholesome story giving a lively picture of a naval cadet’s
life.”
_Birmingham Gazette._
“A very wholesome book for boys, and the lurking danger of Ian’s
ill deeds being imitated may be regarded as negligible in
comparison with the good likely to be done by the example of his
manly, honest nature. Ian was a boy whom his father might
occasionally have reason to whip, but never feel ashamed
of.”—_United Service Magazine._
IAN HARDY, MIDSHIPMAN
“A jolly sequel to his last year’s book.”—_Christian World._
“The ‘real thing.’ . . . Certain to enthral boys of almost any
age who love stories of British pluck.”—_Observer._
“=Commander E. Hamilton Currey, R.N., is becoming a serious
rival to Kingston as a writer of sea stories.= Just as a former
generation revelled in Kingston’s doings of his three heroes
from their middy days until they became admirals all, so will
the present-day boys read with interest the story of Ian Hardy.
Last year we knew him as a cadet; this year we get _Ian Hardy,
Midshipman_. The present instalment of his stirring history is
breezily written.”—_Yorkshire Observer._
IAN HARDY, SENIOR MIDSHIPMAN
“Of those who are now writing stories of the sea, Commander
Currey holds perhaps the leading position. He has a gift of
narrative, a keen sense of humour, and above all he writes from
a full stock of knowledge.”—_Saturday Review._
“=It is no exaggeration to say that Commander Currey bears
worthily the mantle of Kingston and Captain
Marryat.=”—_Manchester Courier._
“The Ian Hardy Series is just splendid for boys to read, and the
best of it is that each book is complete in itself. But not many
boys will read one of the series without being keenly desirous
of reading all the others.”—_Sheffield Telegraph._
IAN HARDY FIGHTING THE MOORS
“By writing this series the author is doing national service,
for he writes of the Navy and the sea with knowledge and sound
sense. . . . What a welcome addition the whole series would make
to a boy’s library.”—_Daily Graphic._
“The right romantic stuff, full of fighting and hairbreadth
escapes. . . . Commander Currey has the secret of making the men
and ships seem actual.”—_Times._
“By this time Ian Hardy has become a real friend and we consider
him all a hero should be.”
_Outlook._
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where
multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer
errors occur.
Book title and author's name has been added to the original
cover.