The Fouled Propeller
A sudden jar that shook the _Olivette_ from stem to stern promptly
dislocated the trend of the two Scoutmasters' surmises. For thirty
seconds or more the motors laboured heavily, until Warkworth, who was
taking his trick in the engine-room, declutched and cut off the
ignition.
The Sea Scouts on deck gave inquiring glances at Mr. Armitage; but,
true to his principles of letting the lads act on their own
initiative, he gave no solution for the cause of the mishap or any
suggestion as to what ought to be done.
Presently Woodleigh grasped the reason for his Scoutmaster's silence.
It was "up to" the Patrol Leader to act.
"Motor all right, Warkworth?" he inquired.
"Yes," was the reply. "I switched off because I fancy something's
fouled the propeller. Send somebody down, and we'll try to turn the
shaft round by hand."
Desmond volunteered to assist Warkworth. The removable floor-boards
over the shaft were taken up, and both lads, by means of pipe
wrenches, tried their hardest to turn the massive metal rod, which in
ordinary circumstances could be moved with very little effort.
"Prop's foul of something," announced Warkworth.
Woodleigh and most of the Sea Scouts on deck were aft. By this time
the _Olivette_ had lost way and was rounding-to broadside on to the
now slight breeze. Lying at full length, and leaning over the short
counter, the Patrol Leader could discern the three-bladed propeller,
its boss a couple of feet beneath the surface.
"There's rope wound round it," he declared, "about half a dozen
turns. Get a boat-hook, somebody; I think I can get it off."
Hayes brought the desired article. With a couple of fellows holding
on to his legs the Patrol Leader tried for a full five minutes,
until, red in the face and cramped in body and limbs, he desisted
from his unsuccessful attempt.
"The stuff's as hard as a chunk of iron," he announced. "I'll get
Warkworth to start up again and put the gear into the reverse. That
might throw the rope clear. Stand by with that dinghy's painter: we
don't want that fouled as well."
The motor being warm it did not take long to restart even on
paraffin. Then Warkworth let in the clutch in the reverse, and,
although the engine did not labour quite so much, the desired result
was not attained. An examination of the propeller, after the motor
had been running for a couple of minutes, revealed the disconcerting
fact that the rope was still wound tightly round the boss. In the
ahead position the undue strain on the shaft almost pulled the engine
up dead.
"I suppose the only thing to be done is to set a square-sail and make
either for Torquay or Brixham," remarked Woodleigh. "We're bound to
get a tow in, and at low tide we can cut the rope away."
"Then we won't make Plymouth to-day," added Flemming.
"Let me have a cut at it, Woodleigh," said Jock Findlay quietly.
"How?" asked the Patrol Leader.
"By diving for it," replied Jock.
Findlay was the champion diver of the 9th Southend Troop of Sea
Scouts. Only a few weeks previously he had carried off first prize in
a plate-diving competition in fifteen feet of water. One rival came
to the surface with twelve tin plates. Another brought up sixteen.
When Findlay reappeared after he dived he held eight plates in his
hand; and while the onlookers, who regarded Jock as the favourite,
were showing their surprise at the small number Findlay had handed
over, the wily Sea Scout produced another twelve from the inside of
his bathing-dress.
"Can you?" queried the doubting Woodleigh. "You'll be knocked out if
the counter gives you a crack. The boat's rolling a bit."
"I'll risk that," rejoined Findlay, who was already divesting himself
of his clothing.
"Will that lad be all right, do you think?" asked Mr. Armitage in an
aside.
"Quite," replied Mr. Graham, with firm conviction. "He's like a young
eel in the water."
"All my lads are good swimmers," observed Mr. Armitage, "but
curiously enough they are indifferent divers. Woodleigh, for
instance, always shuts his eyes when diving. He says he cannot open
them while under water. It's pure fallacy, although I know plenty of
people who say the same thing."
Meanwhile Findlay, looking like a young Apollo, was whetting his
knife on the palm of his hand.
"No chance of that propeller revolving?" he inquired.
"Motor's stopped," replied Woodleigh. "You'll be all right as far as
that is concerned; but for goodness' sake mind you don't get a biff
on the head."
Jock made a clean, graceful dive over the counter, and, reappearing
almost at once, swam towards the stern. Awaiting his opportunity he
grasped the upper edge of the rudder and drew himself beneath the
surface.
For thirty long-drawn-out seconds Findlay remained submerged; then he
reappeared about a couple of yards from the boat.
[Illustration: "ALL CLEAR!" HE ANNOUNCED, EXHAUSTED AND TRIUMPHANT
_Page_ 105]
"Heave me a line," he called out breathlessly. "I'm all right--don't
want to hang on to the boat--she's rolling too much--rope's hard as
wire--I'm cutting it through."
Five times the plucky Sea Scout returned to the attack. Pieces of
frayed grass rope drifting alongside gave evidence of the progress of
his labours. Finally he broke the surface, with a short length of
rope in one hand and his knife in the other.
"All clear!" he announced, exhausted and triumphant. "Give me a hand,
Desmond."
He had not the strength left to clamber up the side, but willing
hands caught him and hauled him on deck to the accompaniment of a
rousing cheer from the _Olivette's_ crew.
"Plucky lad, that!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage.
"Yes," admitted Mr. Graham proudly. "There is one thing in which the
Southend Sea Scouts can give points to the Milford fellows, and I
know you won't begrudge them that."
"No," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "Your lads have more than earned their
passage."
And the welcome purr of the motor, as the _Olivette_ once more forged
ahead in her normal style, emphasized the justice of the
Scoutmaster's sentiments.