Down Stream
The Milford Sea Scouts had a most pleasant afternoon's ramble round
Oxford, with Mr. Jackson's scouts. They saw as much as anyone could
possibly expect to see and appreciate in so short a space of time.
"I can't help envying you, Armitage," said the Oxford Scoutmaster
towards the end of the afternoon. "There's nothing like a sea life.
Knocking about on a river is very good sport, but, when all's said
and done, it doesn't come up to a sea voyage. You don't get the lift
of the ocean and the stinging salt breezes and all that sort of thing
here."
"You've been afloat a good deal, I take it?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"Yes--before the war," replied Mr. Jackson. He offered no further
information, but it was a case of being hard hit. Previous to
"joining up" he had a small yacht on the Crouch. This he sold for a
mere song before he donned khaki, only to find, on being demobilized
four years later, that the price of all types of craft had risen so
enormously that he was compelled to abandon any idea of purchasing
another yacht.
"Do you know the East Coast?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"Fairly well," admitted the Scoutmaster modestly. "Knocked about
there in and out of most of the creeks and harbours for the best part
of ten years."
"Like to have a trip in the _Rosalie_?" asked Mr. Armitage. "If so, I
think it can be arranged."
"Like a shot," said the other eagerly. "I haven't any fixed plans for
the holidays."
"Then meet me at Yarmouth next Saturday," continued the Milford
Scoutmaster. "Bring a couple of your boys if they care to come.
'Fraid there's not sufficient accommodation for more. No; nothing to
thank me for. You'll have to do your whack same as the rest of us,
and we'll be glad of your help."
Early on Monday morning the landing-stage, alongside which the
_Olivette_ was lying, was invaded with throngs of people anxious to
get on the river. Every available boat and punt was let, steamers and
motor-launches were packed, while crowds awaited their turn. It was
an animated scene, and the Sea Scouts, having washed decks and
snugged down, took a lively interest in the proceedings; while they
were objects of curiosity on the part of the waiting holiday-makers.
For the best part of an hour Mr. Armitage and the boys were answering
questions as to what the _Olivette_ was, where she was bound for, and
a hundred inquiries as to the duties performed by Sea Scouts.
Presently a short, stout, red-faced man, who looked like a farmer,
made his way to the front rank of the waiting throng and took a
studied interest in the boat.
"Good morning," he exclaimed at length.
"Good morning," replied Mr. Armitage.
"Any chance of a trip in this craft?" asked the stranger.
The Scoutmaster shook his head.
"Sorry," he replied. "This is a private boat."
"Then it's no use?"
"Not the slightest, I regret to say."
The stranger stepped back, treading heavily on the toe of a man
behind him.
"My mistake, sir; I apologize," he exclaimed, then he broke into a
roar of laughter.
"That's great!" he continued. "Great, absolutely! The owner refused
admittance. Something to tell my friends at the club. Murgatroyd
warned off the course, eh?"
Then, with considerable agility, he gained the _Olivette's_ deck and
extended a hand to the astonished Armitage.
"Course you weren't to know," said Mr. Murgatroyd, waving aside the
proffered apology. "I don't mind, so what's the trouble? Nothing. Now
then, can we be starting? I mean us all to have a jolly good time.
Nothing like being merry and bright, and dash the expense. Smart
youngsters those, Mr. Armitage. Makes me regret my lost youth."
Still talking vivaciously, Mr. Murgatroyd directed the shipment of a
portmanteau, a suit-case, and a big hamper of provisions.
"I know precious little about a boat, Mr. Armitage," he declared.
"It's up to you and your crew to teach me as much as I can grasp. You
think it strange that I've bought a boat at my time of life, eh? It's
never too late to learn, says the proverb, and I'm trying to prove
that the old tag is right. Matter of fact," he added proudly, "I've
had my licence endorsed three times; that's put a stopper on my
driving a car. Now, carry on, Mr. Armitage. You're skipper, and I'm
only a passenger. If I get in your way, push me out of it. If I
should show signs of mutinous conduct, maroon me on an island--the
Karsino, for preference, 'cause I've been there before."
Thereat, Mr. Murgatroyd went below to watch the operation of
"starting up", while the Scoutmaster, having satisfied himself that
the warps were in readiness and that the deck-hands knew what was
required of them, made his way to the wheel-house.
Waiting until the engine was well warmed up, the Scoutmaster beckoned
to Stratton.
"Take the wheel," he said as the Patrol-leader clambered upon the
steering-platform. "Act entirely on your own. I'll stand by in case
of accidents."
Feeling considerably "bucked" at being put in charge of the wheel,
and at the same time conscious of a slight sensation of nervousness,
Stratton turned the wheel hard over, first to port, and then to
starboard, bringing the helm back to 'midships. Having ascertained
the number of turns, he yelled:
"Let go, for'ard and aft. Touch astern."
Aided by the current, the _Olivette_ did not take long to go stern
foremost the length of the stage, but somewhat to Stratton's anxiety
she did not answer readily to her helm. Very slowly she fell away to
port, her bows just missing a barge moored on the left bank of the
river, until her counter was within ten yards of the right bank.
"Stop. Easy ahead... Stop... Touch astern.... Stop!"
Roche, at the reversing lever, obeyed promptly. Unable to see what
was going on outside, he rather wondered at the string of orders. It
was a novel experience, acting as engineer, and relying solely upon
the words of command of the coxswain.
With her after part in still water and the current boring against her
bows, the _Olivette_ swung round rapidly until her stem pointed
obliquely down stream. Stratton had succeeded in turning her. With a
feeling of elation he gave the order, "Easy ahead."
"Well done, Stratton!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage with whole-hearted
earnestness. Then after a minute or so he added: "We'll have to go
slower than that; look at the wash."
Peter glanced astern. The powerfully-engined craft, although well
throttled down, was leaving a turmoil of waves in her wake. Small
boats and canoes were bobbing in the swell, which broke heavily
against the bank on one side, and the college barges on the other.
"She's going as slow as possible," yelled Roche in reply to the
request for less speed. "If I throttle her any more she'll stop."
Peter looked inquiringly at the Scoutmaster.
"Cut out a couple of cylinders," suggested Mr. Armitage.
This was done, but the boat trembled excessively with the jerky
motion imparted by two cylinders only. At the same time the speed was
visibly reduced.
Just then Mr. Murgatroyd, who was sitting on the roof of the
deck-house determined to enjoy himself, inquired: "Won't she go any
faster?"
"We can't do it without causing damage to other craft," replied Mr.
Armitage.
"Then I'm hanged if I keep the boat on the Thames, if I can't get
more out of her than that," was the rejoinder. "Look at that launch,
she's going twice as fast as we are."
By the time Mr. Armitage had endeavoured to explain that the
difference in displacement and shape of the submerged surfaces had
everything to do with speed, the _Olivette_ was approaching Iffley
Lock.
"I'll take her," said the Scoutmaster. "Watch, and then you can carry
on through the next lock. There are thirty-two between here and
Teddington, I believe, so by the time we've tackled a quarter of them
we ought to be experts."
Even Mr. Armitage "had the wind up" as the _Olivette_ approached the
narrow lock, the upper gates of which were open. The current was
running strongly over a weir to the left of the lock, the river being
2 feet above the normal summer level.
Allowing, as he thought, plenty of margin to counteract the rush of
water over the weir, he gave the order for the crew to stand by with
the fore and aft warps.
Slowly the _Olivette_ approached the lock, until Mr. Armitage saw
that she was being swept out of her course. Too late he put the helm
to starboard. The boat's stern swung to port and her quarter crashed
into a massive post with a shock that nearly threw the owner
overboard.
The post saved her. A touch ahead with the propeller and the
_Olivette_ glided into the lock.
"That's how not to do it," commented the Scoutmaster. "Better luck
next time!"
Released from the lock, the _Olivette_ resumed her course past the
leafy woods of Nuneham. Sandford Lock was negotiated without
incident, and then Abingdon town hove in sight.
"Abingdon Bridge is, I believe, the lowest we have to encounter,"
observed Mr. Armitage, as the _Olivette_ passed out of the lock that
takes its name from the old-world town. "Stand by the
reversing-lever, Roche. There's a tricky piece of work ahead."
It was. Almost before the Scouts were aware of it, the low arch of
the bridge appeared to be advancing to meet them. It was narrow, too,
and the turgid waters foamed noisily between the buttresses.
"By Jove! Will it clear us?" thought Mr. Armitage.
Mr. Murgatroyd and the Sea Scouts on deck saw the danger, and
precipitately threw themselves flat on deck. There was no going back
now. The _Olivette_, in the grip of a current running as fast as, or
faster than, she could go astern--even if she answered readily to her
helm--was bearing down at a rate of nine knots "over the ground".
Viewed from the wheel-house it seemed impossible that the boat could
escape destruction. The Scoutmaster had a brief and vivid vision of
the frail wheel-house shattering itself against the crown of the
masonry, yet not for an instant did he lose control of the wheel.
Under it! By inches the _Olivette_ scraped through. Hepburn
afterwards declared that there wasn't the space of a hand's breadth
between the stonework and the roof of the wheel-house.
"Smart bit of work, Mr. Armitage," called out the owner. "We're
having some excitement!"
"No more of that sort, I hope," said the Scoutmaster frankly. "I
thought that navigating the Thames was child's play, but give me the
open sea any day."
"Take on, Warkworth," ordered Mr. Armitage. "I'm going below for a
few minutes. You've two miles before we come to the next lock. Send
word if you want me before."
Telling Flemming to relieve Roche in the engine-room, and asking the
Patrol-leader to give an eye to the coxswain, Mr Armitage went to his
cabin to change a roll of films. The camera was a brand new one, and
the operation required careful handling. Just as he had wound the
first of the new films into position he heard Warkworth shout.
"Stop. Easy astern!"
Thinking that perhaps it was an inexperienced oarsman who had got in
the way of the _Olivette_, the Scoutmaster hurried to the
wheel-house.
"What's wrong, Warkworth?"
"I don't know, sir," replied the perplexed youth. "The river seems to
stop here. There's no lock and no way out."
Too late the Scoutmaster remembered that there was such a thing as
Culham Cut, one of those artificial waterways that avoid a long
detour of the tortuous stream. This one had been missed, and the
_Olivette's_ progress was stopped by the weir of Sutton Courtney.
By dint of much manoeuvring the boat was turned, and finally got on
her proper course through the Cut--by a channel so narrow and with
such high, steep banks that, from the wheel-house, it seemed as if
the _Olivette's_ sides were scraping the embankments.
Beyond Day's Lock two delays occurred. Once the boat had to be
stopped in order to retrieve Mr. Murgatroyd's hat, which was deftly
recovered by Hepburn by means of a boat-hook. The second stop
involved a complicated manoeuvre, because an inexperienced punter,
underrating the tenacious quality of the mud on the bottom of the
river, was left hanging on to the gradually-tilting pole, while his
punt glided sweetly down stream. By the time the _Olivette_, which
displayed her unhandiness more than ever when going astern, had
rescued the dripping and thoroughly-scared man and taken the punt in
tow, thirty-five minutes had elapsed.
"Far enough for to-day, I think," suggested Mr. Murgatroyd, after the
_Olivette_ had successfully passed through a fleet of "small
fry"--canoes, skiffs, and punts--in the neighbourhood of Wallingford.
"Of course, if you are keen on going farther, Mr. Armitage, do so.
You're skipper. But there is a decent little hotel in Wallingford
which I have been to before."
"Right-o; we'll bring up here," agreed the Scoutmaster. "Twenty-one
miles in eight hours isn't exactly exceeding the speed limit."
"It's been enjoyable," continued the owner of the _Olivette_, as she
was berthed alongside a stage. As he prepared to step ashore he
added: "And, by the by, there's a sort of tuck-box for the crew.
They've got to get outside the contents of that hamper before we
reach Teddington."