Advantages and Disadvantages of Cement
"A regular Paddy's hurricane!" commented Desmond as he came on deck
next morning.
Not a breath of wind stirred the air. The sky was clear; the placid
waters of Padstow Harbour were as smooth as a mirror. The smoke from
the various chimneys ashore went up as straight as a plumb-line.
Findlay, stopping only to tap the barometer, followed his chum into
the cockpit.
"Gass high and steady," he observed. "It's going to be a top-hole
day. Wind nor'-east, when it does come, I fancy."
"It's a good thing we have a motor," added Hayes, glancing at his
blistered hands. "The _Spindrift_ is a regular brute to sweep along.
How's that toe of yours, Desmond?"
"Much better, thanks," replied the Patrol Leader.
Mr. Graham, clad like the others in a bathing-suit, came on deck,
glanced over the side to make sure that the tide was slack, and gave
the signal.
The next instant four distinct splashes indicated that the crew of
the _Spindrift_ were taking a personal interest in the waters of
Padstow Harbour. A vigorous swim, followed by a brisk rub-down, gave
the lads a most healthy appetite.
"When do we make a start, sir?" asked Desmond, during breakfast.
"As soon as we've stowed everything away," was the reply. "We've a
fairly long run to-day."
"Round Land's End, sir?" asked Hayes.
"Hardly," rejoined Mr. Graham. "We'll have to be satisfied if we make
St. Ives before night. There'll be wind before very long. By the by,
Findlay, while we are clearing away and snugging down, you might go
ashore and get a couple of tins of petrol and a quart of lubricating
oil."
Jock went off in the dinghy. Whilst he was away Hayes washed up, Mr.
Graham dried the breakfast things, and Desmond stowed them away.
"Are we going to tow the yacht out with the dinghy, sir?" asked
Findlay on his return.
"No, we'll have the motor on the _Spindrift's_ transom," replied the
Scoutmaster. "For one thing, the propeller will be a fairly big drag
for the dinghy when we're towing her under sail."
"We can unship it from the dinghy, sir," said Findlay. "It only
weighs about forty or fifty pounds."
"Quite so," agreed Mr. Graham, "but even that weight requires some
lifting in a small dinghy. If there's any roll on outside it will be
a difficult matter to unclamp the motor and transfer it on board the
yacht. We'll see what we can do now."
Luckily the edge of the transom projected a couple or three inches
above the _Spindrift's_ after-deck, and to this projection the
outboard engine was clamped, and the propeller adjusted until it was
the right depth below the surface. Meanwhile Findlay had mixed the
petrol and oil in the right proportions and had filled the tank.
"We've quite a lot of water in the bilges, sir," announced Hayes, who
had lifted up one of the floor-boards.
"Yes, by Jove, we have," agreed Mr. Graham. "She's probably not taken
up properly. Get the pump going, Hayes."
The Sea Scout fitted the plunger and primed the pump. Then he gave a
dozen vigorous strokes, without the desired result.
"Pump's not working, sir," he declared.
The Scoutmaster looked to see what was amiss. The lower valve was
adrift. It was of the double-mushroom pattern, with a flange in the
barrel and a nut in the suction-pipe to keep the valve in its place.
Removing the lower valve by means of a hooked rod, Mr. Graham found
that the nut had come unfastened, and was probably half-way down the
pipe. Without it the valve was lifted completely out of its resting
by the suction of the plunger.
"That's awkward, sir," said Desmond. "The pipe's soldered to the
barrel instead of having the usual union. What's to be done?"
"We can't go to sea with a pump out of action," rejoined the
Scoutmaster. "What do you suggest, Desmond?"
"Unshipping the whole concern and taking it ashore to be set right,
sir," was the reply. "It's a plumber's job."
"It would mean a day wasted," objected Findlay. "It's a pity to miss
this fine weather."
"Then what do you suggest, old son?" asked the Patrol Leader. "If
you've a stunt in the back of your mind, out with it."
"I'd scrap the lower valve," declared Findlay.
"But you must have one, Jock," interrupted Mr. Graham, "otherwise the
pump won't act."
"Yes, sir, I know," said the Sea Scout. "All we want is a hollow
india-rubber ball, slightly smaller than the bore of the pump, and a
handful of cement. Punch a small hole in the ball, fill it with dry
cement, and then put it in water to set. That's your lower valve."
"Yes, and I fancy that will do the trick, Jock," agreed the
Scoutmaster. "Nip ashore and see if you can get the things."
Findlay made a second trip in the dinghy. During his absence the
others got rid of the bilge-water by the tedious process of baling
out, since some hours must necessarily elapse before the cement would
set.
On Jock's return the motor was started and the anchor broken out. At
a modest three knots the _Spindrift_ glided easily toward the open
sea, as if to demonstrate the superiority of the little 2 3/4
horse-power engine over a pair of sixteen-feet sweeps manned by Sea
Scouts.
Desmond was at the helm; the Scoutmaster and Findlay were engaged in
setting canvas in contemplation of a breeze outside; while Hayes,
armed with bucket and mop, proceeded to remove the mud from the
ketch's deck and to clean the slimy ooze from the anchor.
"We're in luck, sir!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader, as Trevose
Lighthouse opened out on the port bow. "There's a breeze coming up
right aft."
It was a fairly long time coming, but when it did arrive the breeze
was a fair and steady one. The motor was switched off and hoisted
inboard, sheets were trimmed, and lee-runners slacked away. Although
the tide was against her, the _Spindrift_ was soon slipping steadily
past the rock-bound coast.
Findlay set to work with the cement and the india-rubber ball. It was
rather a troublesome task, as, in the rising wind, the powdered
cement was blowing all over the yacht; but at last the ball was
filled as tightly as possible and then dropped into a pail of water.
"It will be set by the time we drop anchor," he declared.
Three hours steady run brought the _Spindrift_ abeam of Newquay.
Then, clearing the Goose and the Chick--two outlying rocks--she
squared off towards St. Agnes' Head.
"Fine piece of coast, this," observed Mr. Graham. "You'd hardly
imagine those cliffs contained little harbours that did a roaring
trade in the old smuggling days. There's Hanover Cove, Trevellas
Porth, and Trevaunance Cove--picturesque little holes that from
seaward would easily pass notice."
"What's the matter with the sea, sir?" suddenly exclaimed Hayes.
"It's red!"
At that moment the _Spindrift_ had passed over a clearly defined
line. On one side the sea was of a deep green, on the other it was of
a vivid red, the red patch extending in semicircular formation with
its base shorewards.
"Mundic--a sort of arsenic refuse from the mines," explained the
Scoutmaster. "There's a large mine over there, close to Trevaunance,
and the pumps throw out the mundic waste into a stream that in turn
carries it to the sea. All along the coast you'll see the same sort
of thing. Now, how about lunch, you fellows? I'm jolly hungry, if you
are not."
Findlay, as "cook of the day", went below to start up the stove and
prepare the meal. There was a certain amount of rivalry between the
lads in the matter of providing an appetizing meal, and Jock meant to
"keep his end up".
Presently the fragrant odour of grilled steak wafted aft. The
Scoutmaster, Desmond, and Hayes sniffed the air and nodded knowingly.
Jock was going to do them well.
"All ready, you fellows!" he shouted.
The _Spindrift_ was hove-to on the starboard tack, which meant that
if she made any way at all it would be away from the shore. By this
time the tide had changed, so that although hove-to she was still
being carried towards her desired haven.
Into the cabin Scoutmaster and Sea Scouts scrambled. Findlay, proud
as a peacock, served up the first course--pea soup. The hungry crew
attacked it ravenously. They were too eager to talk.
After a few spoonfuls Desmond slowed down and watched his companions.
Mr. Graham was somewhat critically examining the soup on his plate.
Hayes had given up his portion as a bad job and was awaiting
corroborative evidence.
"What's wrong?" asked the Patrol Leader.
"I don't know," replied Hayes. "It doesn't seem quite right, somehow.
Does it, sir?"
Mr. Graham, thus appealed to, was about to give his verdict when
Findlay came into the cabin from the fo'c'sle.
"Ready for second course, sir? Hello! Not finished yet. Is there
anything wrong?"
"I suppose, Jock," observed the Scoutmaster, "I suppose you did make
the soup from the packet labelled 'pea soup'?"
"Yes, sir," replied Findlay, getting red in the face.
"I thought perhaps it might have been a packet of ground
oyster-shells for chickens that the grocer had given you in mistake
for pea flour."
Findlay tasted a spoonful of soup.
"It certainly is gritty, sir," he admitted. "All right, I'll bring
the steak. Hang on to those plates, Hayes."
Hayes, who was nearest to the fo'c'sle door, took the pile of tin
plates, as requested. He promptly dropped the lot.
"They're hot!" he exclaimed, holding his tingling fingers.
"Sorry," murmured Jock. "I meant them to be warmed. Pick them up with
that cloth. I'm bringing in the steak and potatoes."
Judging by the rich brown appearance and savoury odour, the steak was
done to a turn. But alas! Both meat and potatoes were as gritty and
as unpalatable as the pea soup. It was only by carefully scraping the
steak on all sides that it could be rendered eatable; while the
potatoes, boiled to softness, would not yield to such treatment. Nor
was the bread much better.
"I can't think what's happened, sir," said Findlay, abjectly
apologetic.
"I can tell you, I think," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "Everything's
smothered with cement dust, and the powder has solidified into little
pellets. Look! This shelf is thick with white dust."
Desmond laughed good-humouredly.
"Poor old Jock evidently forgot that we belong to the Seal Patrol,
sir," he exclaimed. "He thinks we are ostriches. Ostriches swallow
chunks of stone and nails, don't they, sir?"
There was yet another course--jam tart--but Findlay had not the
courage to produce it. Surreptitiously, a couple of hours later, he
dropped it overboard. The pastry, as hard as iron, sank like a stone,
which was not to be wondered at when Jock found that the remainder of
the cement had toppled over into the jar containing the flour. In the
dim light of the fo'c'sle he had failed to notice the catastrophe
--hence the pastry composed of flour and cement in almost equal parts.
There was nothing to be done but to fall back upon bully beef and
biscuits. Fortunately, these were in air-tight tins and had escaped
the sand-storm which had swept over the cabin and fo'c'sle.
"Cheer up, Jock!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "There's no harm done." ("I
don't know about that," remarked Hayes _sotto voce_.) "It's merely a
little object lesson in the advantages and disadvantages of the use
of Portland cement."