Disturbing Influences
"Now, you fellows, avast yarning," cautioned Scoutmaster Armitage.
"You'll all be as limp as rags when it comes to turning out
to-morrow."
The buzz of voices from the crowded fo'c'sle ceased. Ten boys,
packed, like sardines in a triangular compartment twenty feet by ten,
had had considerable difficulty in turning in. Each of the iron cots
on either side had its blanketed occupant; two Sea Scouts were lying
on the floor. It was "sleeping rough" with a vengeance; but, as these
conditions were "for this night only", the youngsters made the best
of things and rather enjoyed the situation.
"I hope your cot-lashing's strong enough," said Desmond drowsily,
addressing Woodleigh, whose hefty person was barely a couple of feet
above the speaker. "If that carries away you'll flatten me out, old
son."
"It's all right," rejoined Woodleigh with a yawn. "Night-night, old
thing."
In less than a minute Woodleigh was asleep, his example being quickly
followed by the rest of the _Olivette's_ crew. But not so the three
supernumeraries. In strange surroundings they could not help keeping
awake.
"What's that noise, Desmond?" whispered Hayes. "It sounds like water
pouring in. Is she leaking, do you think?"
"No," replied the Patrol Leader. "It's the tide rippling past the
boat's side."
Five minutes later Hayes declared that there was another weird noise.
"Mooring chain rubbing against the boat's forefoot," explained
Desmond. "For goodness' sake don't keep on chattering. I want to get
to sleep."
"It's not that I mean," persisted the lad. "There's a sort of gnawing
sound. Can't you hear it?"
"Rats!" ejaculated the Patrol Leader.
Hayes kept silent for a considerable time. He was not altogether sure
about the sense in which Desmond had used the word "Rats". He might
have meant it as a deprecatory ejaculation. He hoped that he had,
because he was afraid of rodents. It was a fear that he had never yet
been able to conquer, although in other respects he was a plucky
little youngster.
The gnawing sound began again. Hayes, who was sleeping, or rather
lying on the floor on top of a number of blankets, realized the
possibility of the rat gnawing a hole through the panelling of the
fo'c'sle. In that case he being on the floor would be the one to be
favoured with the brute's attention.
Doubling his fist Hayes tried to thump the floor in the hope of
scaring the rat. Unfortunately he forgot that the _Olivette's_
tenderfoot, little Willis, was occupying a made-up bed close to him.
So instead of smiting the board Hayes dealt his opposite number a
hefty whack in the ribs.
"What's that for?" demanded the astonished Willis, only half awake in
spite of the blow.
"Rats," whispered Hayes hoarsely.
"Silly owl!" retorted Willis. "If you are trying to be funny----"
"I'm not," interposed the other seriously. "There are rats on board.
Sorry, I didn't mean to biff you. I was trying to scare them away.
Listen."
Both lads listened. Beyond the occasional rasp of the mooring-chain
and the steady ripple of the wavelets there was silence.
"You've scared it," said Willis at length. "We get a rat on board
occasionally--when we are lying alongside a quay. It's nothing to
make a song about. You'll soon get used to it. It's in the bilges if
it's anywhere. No chance of getting in here. 'Sides, the poor
blighter would be scared stiff."
The last sentence trailed off almost into an incoherent whisper.
Willis was asleep again.
Hayes lay awake listening for quite another half-hour; then, dimly
conscious once or twice that the intermittent gnawing was going on,
he too fell into a deep sleep.
Suddenly the silence of the confined space was rent by a frenzied
yell, followed by a heavy double crash. In an instant every Sea Scout
was awake, and a scene of utter confusion followed as the lads barged
into each other and tripped over the writhing bodies of their
comrades on the floor.
Roused by the uproar the two Scoutmasters hastened from the
after-cabin, Mr. Armitage going through the engine-room and by the
sliding door leading to the fo'c'sle, while Mr. Graham gained the
deck, went for'ard, and reached the hatchway to the Sea Scouts'
sleeping quarters.
Simultaneously both Scoutmasters flashed their electric torches upon
the scene.
"Pull yourselves together, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage firmly,
although he was quite at a loss to account for the chaotic state of
the fo'c'sle. "Patrol, alert!"
The order had the desired effect. The Scouts' equivalent to the
military "'Shun" was obeyed with an alacrity that would have earned
the approbation of the strictest regimental sergeant-major. Promptly
the lads "sorted themselves out" and stood still, blinking solemnly
at the dazzling cross-rays of the two Scoutmasters' torches.
"Tell me what you know of this business, Woodleigh," continued Mr.
Armitage, addressing the Patrol Leader.
"I hardly know anything, sir," replied Woodleigh, conscious of a
steadily rising bump on his forehead and a pair of barked elbows.
"Something disturbed me. I sat up and barged my head on the
deck-beam. Then my hammock gave way and I cannoned off Desmond on top
of somebody else."
"It was my fault, sir," declared Desmond. "Some of us were talking
about rats before I went to sleep, and I must have dreamt that a rat
was nibbling my toe. I remember sitting up and shouting out and
bumping the under side of Woodleigh's cot with my head. Then
Woodleigh's cot-lashings carried away, and he rolled out on top of
me."
"I should hardly have expected to find that you were subject to silly
nightmares, Desmond," observed Mr. Graham, who was beginning to
shiver in the night air as he hung over the open fore-hatch.
"I don't think it was a nightmare, sir," protested Desmond. "A rat
bit me."
In support of this assertion he held up a bare foot. There was blood
oozing from a double puncture on the big toe.
Mr. Armitage examined the injury.
"You've knocked your toe against something, my boy," he said. "A nail
perhaps. Wash your foot in lysol and fresh water and put some lint to
it."
He glanced at his wristlet watch. It was half-past three.
"I don't suppose you fellows will get to sleep again," he remarked
briskly; "so get dressed and have something to eat. We'll make a
start and get under way as soon as possible. Come on, Graham, it's a
bit draughty up there, and you look shivery. Let's get dressed."
The two Scoutmasters returned to the after-cabin.
"That lad Desmond wasn't dreaming, Graham," remarked Mr. Armitage
quietly. "I didn't want to alarm him, but it was a bite right enough.
We'll have to smoke that rat out as soon as it gets light enough."
Desmond's assertion was not lacking in supporting evidence. A few
days previously Flemming had invested in a pair of shoes, and, having
walked a good distance in them, had galled one of his heels. To
relieve the sting and to soften the tough leather Flemming had rubbed
Russian tallow on the heel of his stocking.
Tallow being a delicacy to which rats are particularly addicted, it
was not so very surprising to learn that the rodent, who had taken up
his temporary abode on board the _Olivette_, had been attracted by
Flemming's sock. Not only had the tallow disappeared but four square
inches of wool had gone the same way.
Then Hayes discovered a gnawed hole in his haversack, and Woodleigh
noted with considerable misgivings that one of his shoes looked a bit
ragged. Mr. Rat had been quite impartial in his attentions, and had
he not nibbled Desmond's toe he might have taken toll from every Sea
Scout on board.
While breakfast was being prepared Findlay engaged upon a tracking
stunt in the fo'c'sle. It did not take him long to find the rat's
mode of entering. There was a hole through the side of one of the
lockers, the ragged edges bearing testimony to the sharpness of the
animal's teeth. From the for'ard partition of the locker another hole
communicated with the chain-locker. Here the trail ended. It was
impossible for the rat to have got into the chain-locker through the
narrow metal-bound aperture that allowed the "ranged" cable to run
out. The only explanation of the rat's method of getting into the
locker was that at some recent time the lid must have been left open.
The next step was to find out the rodent's hiding-place. There was no
other hole between the fo'c'sle and the engine-room. All the lockers
were examined. The floor fitted too well to allow the animal to find
a refuge in the bilges.
"I don't think we need try smoking the rat out," decided Mr.
Armitage. "The only feasible conclusion we can come to is that the
brute made its escape through the open scuttle. In all probability
the rat has rejoined his brothers and sisters in a hole under the
piles of the quay, and is regaling them with a story of wondrous
adventures with the Sea Scouts of the _Olivette_."