The Outboard Motor
It was midnight before the crew of the _Spindrift_ turned in, but for
once the regulation for "lights out" at ten was waived. Findlay and
Hayes had to be told a detailed account of Desmond's adventure; while
Desmond had to hear the story of the fruitless search for the missing
Patrol Leader. The belated supper was a protracted affair, and
yarning seemed to be going on indefinitely, until the Scoutmaster
reminded his youthful crew that, all being well, the homeward voyage
was to be commenced within the next twelve hours.
All hands were up and about by eight the next morning. There was
still much to be done, overhauling gear, taking in provisions, and
making all snug. After breakfast they paid a visit to the _Spanker_.
Truscott and Wilde had both received medical attention, and the
doctor had inquired who had dressed their injuries.
"He said it was a splendid job," declared Truscott. "They call
sailors 'handy men', but, by Jove! I think Sea Scouts run them pretty
close."
"When are you putting to sea again?" asked Mr. Graham.
"We don't know exactly," was the reply. "We've got to get fit, and
we've sent for some chums of ours to give us a hand with the yacht.
Fortunately, we are not tied to time."
"Let's hope you'll have better luck for your next venture," observed
the Scoutmaster.
"We might have had a jolly sight worse luck than we did," rejoined
Wilde, "if it hadn't been for Desmond. The average lad would have
been scared stiff if he'd found himself on a strange yacht in the
Bristol Channel with a couple of crocked-up blighters like us."
"Hurry up, if you want to pass through the lock!" shouted a
peremptory voice.
The Sea Scouts brought their visit to a hasty termination.
Scoutmaster and Scouts ran back to the _Spindrift_, the ropes were
cast off, and the ketch tracked along the bank and through the wide
open gates.
"Good luck!" shouted the crew of the _Spanker_ as the _Spindrift_
glided past.
"Jump aboard, lads!" ordered Mr. Graham.
Findlay and Hayes, who had been tracking the ketch to the gates,
leapt upon her deck. Desmond was at the helm, while the Scoutmaster
directed the setting of the canvas.
"Up staysail and mizzen first, lads!" he ordered. Slowly the
_Spindrift_ forged ahead, aided by the light south-easterly breeze.
Not until mainsail and jib were set did she heel slightly to the
wind, and the water began to ripple and gurgle as her stem cut its
way seaward.
"Isn't this fine, sir!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader. "She's carrying
just a little weather-helm. She's as stiff as a house."
"Let's hope she'll prove so in a hard blow," rejoined Mr. Graham, as
he unfolded a chart and spread it upon the cabin top.
"Where are we making for to-day, sir?" asked Desmond.
"Only to Padstow," was the reply. "I want to test the _Spindrift's_
capabilities before we undertake a long run. This coast isn't like
the Essex shore. There aren't harbours every few miles. Keep her on
Carnbeak, Desmond. That's the point right ahead--but I suppose you
know that already."
"Do I not, sir!" said the Patrol Leader with a laugh. "I thought
yesterday that we'd never pass it. The tides do run hot on this
coast."
It was a pleasant, almost uneventful sail. Mr. Graham exercised the
crew, getting them to go-about, gybe, heave-to, and shoot the yacht
up into the wind in order to pick up the lifebuoy, which he threw
overboard without warning--to practice "man overboard!" evolutions.
People ashore must have speculated on the cause of the _Spindrift's_
antics; but there was method in the Scoutmaster's madness. It was all
very well to put to sea under ideal conditions and to be unprepared
for eventualities. Mr. Graham meant to make his crew capable of
"knocking down a couple of reefs", and, until they could do this
smartly and without unnecessary fuss, he kept them at it.
By the time the _Spindrift_ was abreast of Carnbeak the Scoutmaster
announced his satisfaction at the way the crew had carried out their
task. Already they had "got the hang of things". They knew where
each sheet and halliard was belayed, so that there would be no
confusion when it came to shortening or stowing sail. Each lad took
his trick at the helm, so as to get accustomed to the pull of the
tiller and the amount of helm necessary to put the yacht about
without causing her to miss stays and get in irons, for the
_Spindrift's_ long keel and pronounced forefoot made her rather slow
in going about.
There was no need to hasten. The day was long, the run short. So the
_Spindrift_ hugged the shore as closely as possible without danger of
hitting any of the numerous outlying rocks. She edged inside Meachard
in order to give her crew a peep at the miniature Boscastle Harbour;
Tintagel Head and Castle were viewed from seaward, the legendary
fortress of King Arthur affording the crew a source of deep interest.
Then, skirting Trebarwith sands, the yacht brought up in Port Isaac
while the crew had a meal on deck, satisfying the inner man while
their eyes feasted upon the picturesque aspect of the little Cornish
fishing village.
Six o'clock found the _Spindrift_ off Pentire Point with the whole of
Padstow Bay opened out.
"We'll be anchored by half-past six," observed Hayes the optimist.
But alas for that conjecture! He had reckoned without the baffling
entrance to Padstow, where, if the wind be light outside, it is
necessary to depend upon either power or oars to make the intricate
channel; while, if there is a strong, commanding breeze, the breakers
on the dreaded Doombar render the approach to Padstow unsafe.
All went well with the ketch _Spindrift_ and her crew until she was
abreast of Stepper Point on the starboard hand. Then the sails began
to shake. Gradually she lost way until the coast no longer appeared
to glide by.
"Timber topsails, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Graham cheerfully. "A little
work with the sweeps won't do us any harm."
Bidding Desmond keep his weather eye lifting for puffs that might
sweep down over the cliff, the Scoutmaster took one oar while Findlay
manned the other. It was hot, tiring work. Progress was slow, and
although, after half an hour's unremitting toil, the _Spindrift_ was
a mile inside Stepper Point, the anchorage off Padstow seemed as far
off as ever.
"I wish we had a motor," said Findlay, breathlessly, as he wiped the
perspiration from his forehead.
"Well, we haven't," rejoined Hayes, "and we aren't likely to have one
yet awhile. We're jolly lucky to get the yacht as she is."
"Then come and do a bit with the sweeps," was Findlay's pointed
invitation.
Before Hayes could "take on", Desmond exclaimed:
"Stand by! There's a breeze ahead!"
The next instant the _Spindrift_ heeled to a free puff. Gathering way
she quickly glided up the channel, rounding to and dropping anchor
within half a cable's length of Padstow Quay.
After everything was made snug, the dinghy was manned and the three
Sea Scouts set out for the shore, Mr. Graham volunteering to keep
anchor-watch in their absence.
Close to the _Spindrift_ was a "sixteen-footer", in the stern sheets
of which knelt a very red-faced man, struggling with a refractory
outboard engine. Through sheer exhaustion he desisted as the Sea
Scout's dinghy passed.
"Say, you lads," he exclaimed breathlessly. "Do you ever use strong
language? If you don't, you would if you had this brute of a pig to
deal with."
"What's wrong, sir?" asked Desmond, signing to his chums to lay on
their oars.
"What's wrong?--everything," declared the exasperated man. "I bought
this diabolical contraption ten days ago. Unpacked it--shoved it into
a bath and started it up. First swing of the fly-wheel she fired--the
wallpaper isn't dry yet, and my cat got a stream smack in her face. I
haven't seen her from that day to this. Took the engine on board next
day and tried again. Fire she wouldn't. Did every mortal trick I knew
to get her to go--I've had twelve years experience with internal
combustion engines. All that day I struggled with her; then I wrote
off to the makers. They replied they'd send an expert down if I'd pay
expenses."
He broke off his narrative to give a couple of vicious tugs at the
fly-wheel. The motor remained silent and vibrationless.
"It does me good to get it off my chest," he continued breathlessly.
"You lads interested?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply.
"Well, I made the makers a sporting offer. 'Send the expert down,'
said I, 'and if he gets the brute to go within half an hour I'll pay.
If he doesn't, you jolly well pay all expenses.' They agreed, and
next day the expert comes over from Plymouth. 'Now then, my dear
sir,' said I, 'get on with it.' Get on with it he did. He fiddled
about for less than a minute, gave one pull at the fly-wheel and off
she went like a Maxim gun. 'There you are,' he exclaimed. 'Give her
sufficient petrol and I'll guarantee her to keep going for
twenty-four hours.' That did me. I paid him up and back to Plymouth
he went. Next morning I came on board to start her up. That was as
far as it got. From that day to this I haven't got as much as a kick
out of her--the obstinate mule!"
He took out the plug, "doped" it with petrol, and replaced it. Half a
dozen swings produced no desired result.
"Close on forty pounds she cost me!" he exclaimed. "I've a jolly good
mind to heave the blessed thing overboard."
"I wouldn't do that, sir," said Findlay.
The man gave him a swift glance. He was one of those easy-going
moneyed men who act upon impulse.
The forty pounds was little or nothing to him. The motor, having
aroused his resentment, was of no value in his eyes.
"Then I won't," he replied with a laugh. "Where are you from?"
Desmond told him.
"Look here," continued the internal combustion engine expert, "I'll
make you a sporting offer. Take the bundle of scrap iron on board
your boat and tinker about with it. I've done with the beastly thing.
If you can make it go within the next hour you can have it for a
fiver."
"I haven't anything like that amount," declared the Patrol Leader.
"Does that offer hold good as far as I am concerned, Sadler?" called
out Mr. Graham. In the calm air he had heard every word of the
conversation.
"By Jove! Graham, old son!" almost shouted the jaded victim of the
outboard motor. "How on earth did you come to this part of the world?
Here, you fellows, help me to unship the infernal contraption and
take me aboard your craft."
The engine was unclamped from the transom and dumped on board the
_Spindrift's_ dinghy. Into her jumped Mr. Sadler, and the Sea Scouts
rowed back to the _Spindrift_.
"Now we'll have a long kag about the good old times in the Harwich
Patrol, Graham," exclaimed Sadler, gripping the Scoutmaster's hand.
"Let your youngsters carry on with that rotten infernal machine. To
see your familiar old figure-head again more than compensates me for
hours of toil with that low-down motor. Now, then; fire away and tell
me all the news about yourself."
While the two ex-R.N.V.R. men were exchanging reminiscences the three
Sea Scouts took the motor for'ard. Findlay directed operations. He
had a fairly sound knowledge of motor-bicycles, and the principles of
an air-cooled engine varied very slightly from the two-stroke
outboard motor that had completely baffled Mr. Sadler.
Findlay's first step was to clean the magneto. There were distinct
evidences of moisture in the "make-and-break". Testing the plug on
the cylinder he obtained a very healthy spark, but, when the plug was
screwed home, there was not the faintest trace of firing.
"A regular mystery!" declared Jock. "Have that plug out again,
Desmond old son."
Four times Findlay repeated the tests. The current easily ignited the
dope in the plug when the latter was laid on the cylinder, but, as
soon as the plug was replaced the petrol squirted, but it remained
unfired.
"The clearance between the points is all right," he remarked,
speaking to himself rather than to his companions.
For about half a minute he toyed seemingly aimlessly with the plug;
then in an excited whisper he continued:
"I've got it, lads. At least, I think I have. Hand over that small
spanner, Hayes. Thanks. Now bring our dinghy alongside. We'll try
this little lad."
Very softly, so as not to disturb the occupants of the cabin (Findlay
meant to give them a surprise), the outboard motor was clamped to the
dinghy's transom. For the umpteenth time the engine was doped, and
with bated breath Desmond and Hayes watched Jock grip the fly-wheel.
One vigorous swing and the trick was done! With a series of rapid
explosions the engine fired. Ahead shot the dinghy, the sudden
acceleration capsizing Desmond and Hayes and throwing them in a heap
upon the thwarts, while Findlay had only sufficient time to grasp the
tiller and steer the dinghy clear of the yacht's side.
The roar of the motor brought Mr. Sadler and the Scoutmaster on deck.
They were just in time to see Hayes and the Patrol Leader sorting
themselves out, while Findlay, with a grin of triumph on his face,
was steering the dinghy round the _Spindrift_ at a speed that she had
never before attained.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Sadler in sheer amazement. "However did they
manage the trick?" Scoutmaster Graham smiled.
"You repent of your bargain, George?" he asked.
"Frankly, yes," was the reply. "Now that the old engine is letting
out so nicely I rather regret my rashness. But a bargain's a bargain.
Your lads have carried out their part, and I'll carry out mine."
The Sea Scouts careered about the harbour for nearly half an hour,
and then brought the dinghy alongside and switched off the ignition.
"Will she start up again?" queried Mr. Sadler. In reply Jock gave the
fly-wheel a sharp pull over. The engine fired immediately.
"She's yours," said the late owner, carelessly stuffing the five
one-pound notes that Mr. Graham had given him into his pocket. "But
tell me: what was wrong?"
"The plug, sir," replied Findlay.
"But it was a brand new one," rejoined Mr. Sadler.
"Yes, sir," explained Jock. "But the central rod was a little loose.
There was the correct clearance between the points when the plug was
out of the cylinder. When it was screwed home the rod touched one of
the points, so there was no spark-gap."
"Well, good luck to you and your engine," said Mr. Sadler. "You
deserve it, and the tip is well worth knowing. I'll order another
outboard of the same type to-morrow."