The Semaphore Message
"Stand by with the Red Ensign and Code Pennant, Rayburn," ordered
Patrol Leader Woodleigh.
The _Olivette_ had passed Start Point, and was approaching the
low-lying extremity known as Prawle Point, on which is built a
Lloyd's signal-station.
The Southend lads watched the operation of "making her number" with
deep interest. They had often heard and read of vessels proclaiming
their names and destination by this means, but this was the first
occasion on which they were about to see the "real thing".
Rayburn, the _Olivette's_ "bunting tosser" had brought the
signal-locker close to the base of the mast. Deftly he toggled the
ensign above the red and white striped pennant and hoisted it. Then
he drew four flags from the locker.
"That's our number," he explained to the temporary crew.
"'K J V T'--that's not a number," observed Findlay, who knew the
International Code Flags by heart.
"Isn't it? It is," rejoined Rayburn. "They are letter flags, but they
form a number all the same. They tell the signal-station that we are
the _Olivette_ of London. Stand by with the signal-book, Hepburn."
The Sea Scout signalman had the four flags together, and was now
watching Prawle Point station through his binoculars.
Promptly the shore station hoisted the answering pennant, just "at
the dip", to show that the signal was seen, and their "close up"
indicating that the message was understood.
A E L W and A E N U followed in quick succession.
"They mean Southampton and Plymouth," explained Rayburn. "Our port of
departure and the port we're bound for. Southampton is considered our
port, since Keyhaven comes in that district. Now give me V O X."
"What does that mean?" asked Desmond.
"'I am going to semaphore to you '," was the reply. Rayburn glanced
over his shoulder at Gregory, who was sitting on the raised cabin-top
with his eyes fixed shoreward. "Mr. Armitage gave me instructions to
report the picking up of young Gregory at West Bay. I think there'll
be a rather astonishing reply." Taking up a pair of hand-flags,
Rayburn awaited the acknowledgment from Prawle Point and then began
to semaphore the message.
"Have picked up dinghy with 'Gregory, Abbotsbury' on her transom. One
person in her is now aboard. Propose landing him at Plymouth. Please
telephone information to Gregory, Abbotsbury, Dorset."
Presently the long arms of the shore semaphore began sending out the
reply:
"Boy escaped from Borstal Institute, Portland, yesterday night. Keep
him on board until arrival at Plymouth. Will inform police there, who
will take necessary action."
"Message received," replied Rayburn, then, turning to Findlay, he
exclaimed: "Haul down!"
Meanwhile Woodleigh, standing just behind Rayburn, had written down
the message as the latter dictated in a low voice the astounding
news. Then, without giving any sign that might arouse Master
Gregory's suspicions, the Patrol Leader went aft and handed the
written report to Mr. Armitage.
"By Jove, Graham!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "How's that for
character-reading? The young blighter is an escaped Borstal boy. I
wonder what he was sent to Portland for?"
"Better not ask him," rejoined Mr. Graham. "He might give trouble.
It's rather a wonder he didn't get the wind up when we commenced
semaphoring."
"Perhaps he is in a bit of a funk," said Mr. Armitage. "However,
that's his affair. I'm not going to spoil his few hours of
unauthorized liberty unless he cuts up rough. There's Salcombe, lads.
A snug harbour but a tricky place to enter. Bolt Head's just on our
starboard bow. The next few miles is a magnificent bit of coast."
The _Olivette_ was now fairly close to shore, about half a mile from
the frowning cliffs of Devon. Fascinated by the sight of the
surf-lashed shore, stupendous walls of rock, the Southend Sea Scouts
gazed stolidly shorewards, while Mr. Armitage pointed out the various
objects of interest between Bolt Head and Bolt Tail, and gave
accounts of several notable shipwrecks that had taken place within
the limits of the two forbidding headlands.
Then across Bigbury Bay, almost out of sight of land, the _Olivette_
ploughed her way against a foul tide. The best of the day had gone.
Misty-looking clouds were banking up in the west'ard with a promise
of rain before very long.
"That doesn't look very inviting for a tramp across Cornwall,"
remarked Mr. Graham.
"It may be only local," replied Mr. Armitage. "Without casting any
aspersions upon the attractions of Plymouth, I can assert that I have
put into the Sound on at least half a dozen widely different
occasions, and I have never yet done so in sunshine. It has always
been raining pretty heavily."
Two hours later the _Olivette_ rounded the peaked, isolated rock,
known as the Mewstone, and the whole of Plymouth Sound with its
magnificent breakwater came into view. In spite of the fact that it
was raining heavily, all the Sea Scouts not actually on duty in the
wheelhouse and engine-room kept on deck to enjoy the view, for
enjoyable it was even in the now steady downpour. Gregory too was up
for'ard gazing, rather apprehensively it seemed, at the Hoe and
Smeaton's Tower.
"I feel sorry for that chap," confided Jock Findlay to his chum
Desmond. "I think he knows that there's something in the wind. He has
hardly spoken a word since we passed Prawle Point."
"It's rough luck being pitchforked into the arms of a policeman,"
said Desmond. "Of course, we don't know what he was sent to Portland
for, but I'm hanged if I like the idea of pushing him back. We can't
help it, but it looks like a low-down trick on our part."
"Nearly there, you fellows," announced Woodleigh, as the _Olivette_
passed the end of Mount Batten Breakwater. "Don't you think you'd
better sleep aboard again? It's not much fun tramping ten miles on a
wet evening like this."
"Especially if you've got to sleep out," added Flemming.
The Patrol Leader bent down and spoke to the engineer through the
open window of the wheelhouse.
"Turn over to petrol now, Warkworth, old son," he said. "We're almost
at Sutton Pool."
The crew began to make ready with ropes and fenders, while Woodleigh
kept a sharp look out for a suitable berth in the sheltered but
considerably crowded harbour known as Sutton Pool.
"_Unity_, ahoy!" he hailed, addressing a short, thick-set fisherman
in a blue jersey, tanned trousers, and sea-boots, and wearing a
billy-cock hat that looked rather out of keeping with his nautical
rig. "Can we berth alongside you? Are you putting out to-night?"
"Make fast alongside o' we," replied the skipper of the fishing-smack
_Unity_. "You'm welcome, sure."
"Why don't you tie up alongside the quay?" asked Desmond.
"We never do if it can be avoided," explained Woodleigh. "For one
thing, it's rough on our fenders, grinding against a stone wall; for
another, we'd have to keep a watch on deck all night to tend the
warps when the tide fell. Lying alongside the smack we rise and fall
with her. Her crew will have to see to the warps."
The task of making fast had occupied the attention of all hands, but
when the work was completed the Sea Scouts became aware that they
were objects of considerable attention. There was quite a crowd of
fishermen and longshore folk taking an interest in the _Olivette_,
while standing discreetly in the background, with their helmets
showing above the heads of the onlookers, were two stalwart
policemen.