Caught Out
It was with a certain amount of difficulty that the Scoutmaster made
the "watch below" turn in. The lads were reluctant to leave the deck.
It was a calm, peaceful evening, despite a falling glass, and the
prospect of the chief maritime highway of the world's commerce
fascinated them. A huge liner, one blaze of lights, was creeping up
to an anchorage off Tilbury; tramps, coasters, barges, and tugs were
constantly passing to and fro, their navigation-lights forming a
galaxy of red, green, and white.
"You fellows will be fat-headed when it's your turn for duty,"
remarked the Scoutmaster. "As a matter of fact, you may all turn in.
We won't require an anchor watch."
The Sea Scouts obeyed, but Mr. Armitage had no intention of following
their example He went to his cabin and carefully perused the chart,
at the same time noting the still-falling barometer.
"If the wind comes from the sou'-west or south'ard, we'll do all
right here," he soliloquized. "If it's east or north, then it's a
case of look out."
Mr. Murgatroyd, tired out with his long day, had gone to his bunk in
the after-cabin, but there were signs that he was far from
comfortable. Possibly he was hankering after a snug bed ashore and a
floor that didn't rock, although ever so gently.
About midnight the Scoutmaster went on deck. It was now nearly high
tide, and a distinct "popple" of tide was in evidence. Overhead the
starlit sky was beginning to become overcast--long, ragged clouds
throwing out tapering fingers that pointed to a blow from the
nor'ard.
Even as he studied the meteoric conditions, Mr. Armitage heard a
weird moan. It was the herald of a stiff breeze, possibly half a
gale.
Then with a terrific gust the storm burst. It was one of those
sudden, fierce tempests that are apt to occur during the summer
months--short in duration, but none the less dangerous.
In five minutes the sea was quite tumultuous, although the distance
from shore to shore was short of a mile. The _Olivette_ was soon
grinding and bumping against the barge in a manner that suggested
damage if she remained much longer.
The series of violent concussions brought the Sea Scouts from their
bunks. They were prepared to be rocked in the cradle of the deep, but
not to be jolted and rattled like peas in a pod. Mr. Murgatroyd alone
remained; he was in such a state of mind and body that he hardly
cared what happened if only he could set foot on dry land.
"We're dragging, sir," declared Stratton.
It was the unpleasant truth. Either the barge's single anchor had
tripped, or else the crew had neglected to pay out sufficient cable.
Slowly yet surely the barge, with the _Olivette_ bumping alongside,
was drifting down upon the wharves of Gravesend. To make matters
worse, the worthy skipper and crew of the barge had not yet returned
from the shore.
"We'll have to cut and run for it," declared Mr. Armitage. "Otherwise
we stand a good chance of being smashed between the barge and a stone
wall. She may ride to her anchor all right without us. Start the
engine, Roche, as sharp as you can. Stratton, trim and light the
navigation-lamps and set them in position. You others stand by to
cast off, but mind you aren't thrown into the ditch."
Fortunately the motor was still warm, and starting up was quickly
accomplished. It was, however, a difficult, not to say dangerous,
task to cast off from the barge, since it was the _Olivette's_ rope
that secured her.
"I'll do it, sir," volunteered the Patrol-leader. "If you went, and
anything happened so that you couldn't get back from the barge, where
would we be?"
Mr. Armitage saw the force of the argument.
"Right-o!" he assented. "Be very careful."
Stratton meant to be. He knew the risk of slipping and falling
between the two vessels. But he was a level-headed youngster, who
knew how to use his hands and his feet as well as the "grey matter
under his thatch ".
Watching his opportunity, he gained the deck of the barge, passed the
bight of a rope round a bollard, and threw the ends back on to the
_Olivette_.
"All fast!" shouted Hepburn.
With that assurance the Patrol-leader cast off the original rope. The
_Olivette_ was now held by a warp that could be slipped from her deck
and the stern-post as well.
Peter did not employ the same method with the after-warp. He merely
cast it off, and, before the two boats had a chance to drift apart,
he regained the _Olivette's_ deck.
"All gone aft, sir!" he reported.
"Then let go for'ard," ordered the Scoutmaster.
Roche, at the clutch lever of the engine, heard the command, and
wondered why the Scoutmaster did not give the order to go ahead or
astern. But Mr. Armitage realized the danger of starting under power
from the lee of the labouring barge. He was content to let the
_Olivette_ drop clear under the action of wind and tide.
"Easy ahead!" he ordered. "Stratton, pass the word for all hands to
go below. We want a clear deck for this job."
The Patrol-leader saw all the rest of the deck hands into the
cockpit, and then returned to the wheel-house. Mr. Armitage had
thrown open the plate-glass windows, and was preparing grimly to
enjoy himself.
"Get your oilskins," he ordered curtly. "We'll ship some seas, I'm
thinking, and I can't see when the spray obscures the glass."
The Scoutmaster was perturbed. Not that he minded for himself. He was
racking his brains as to the best course to pursue, whether to make
for the Essex side, which was a weather shore, or continue down the
river under the lee of the land. The first alternative involved
anchoring, and he did not like the thought of immature lads handling
a 60-pound anchor in the dark on the slippery deck. The second had an
objection on the score that he was unacquainted with the river and
that the traffic was heavy.
"I'll carry on down," he decided. "It's high water, and if I fringe
the mud-banks I'll be out of the worst of the traffic. If she
grounds, it's soft mud and a weather shore."
Having made this resolve, the Scoutmaster stuck to it. It was an
anxious ten minutes crossing the fairway. There was a nasty cross sea
running, in addition to the fact that several large vessels were in
the vicinity. There were sailing craft, too, plunging along under
reefed canvas, and at sea all vessels under power have to give way
for those under sail.
Showers of spray tumbled inboard, flying through the open windows of
the wheel-house and hissing on the hot cylinders. In addition to the
reek of warm oil the wheel-house and engine-room were filled with
steam. Bilge-water, thrown up by the fly-wheel as the _Olivette_
pitched, added to the discomforts of those below.
But Mr. Armitage was blind to his immediate surroundings. His whole
attention was centred upon the maze of lights. He had to determine
quickly and accurately which were leading lights and which belonged
to vessels under way. An error might result in a collision.
In spite of the discomforts the Sea Scouts were rather enjoying the
situation. Confident in the ability of their Scoutmaster, they hadn't
the slightest idea of the stress that Mr. Armitage was undergoing on
their behalf. The night, too, hid much of the peril that beset them.
Even the helmsman was ignorant of the fact that once the _Olivette_
literally scraped past a huge mooring-buoy, massive enough to crush
her well-built planks like an egg-shell.
At length the boat gained the comparatively quiet water of the Essex
shore. Here, gauging his distance, Mr. Armitage ported helm.
Then the _Olivette_ began to show her weak point. She was undoubtedly
"tender", rolling like a barrel. The Scoutmaster, standing with his
feet planted widely apart, gave a rapid glance behind him to reassure
himself that his youthful crew were all right. They were hanging on
to the first secure object that they found, wondering, doubtless,
what had suddenly possessed the _Olivette_ to behave thus; while
Roche, swallowing mouthfuls of salt-laden steam, was manfully
standing by the reversing-lever.
With her engine running at half speed the _Olivette_ held on,
staggering and lurching as the heavy wind struck her full on the
broadside, until, with a grunt of satisfaction, Mr. Armitage sighted
the Chapman, and, beyond, the lights of Southend.
He was approaching familiar waters now, although during the latter
stages of the war the pile-beacon of the Chapman had not displayed
its nocturnal warning. Beyond was the Nore, known to every officer
and man who had served in the patrols operating from Sheerness and
Harwich.
Grey dawn found the _Olivette_ abreast of the far-flung Southend
pier. It was now nearly low tide. The extensive flats of the Essex
shore, jutting a good two miles from the low-lying Shoeburyness, were
rapidly uncovering. The wind had backed four or six points and was
now nor'-east.
"No use running for the Medway," declared the Scoutmaster. "Nothing
like carrying on, so here goes."
Heedless of the fact that he had had an abnormally long trick at the
helm, Mr. Armitage had decided upon the best plan. To hold on,
keeping under the lee of the sands, meant the best chance of arriving
at Brightlingsea before the wind veered. To hesitate and run for some
unknown creek meant not only the risk of getting aground but possibly
being weatherbound for days.
"It'll be a race with the wind," thought the Scoutmaster:
"'When the wind shifts against the sun,
Trust it not, for back it 'll run'.
"Now, then, it's an even chance: Brightlingsea or a lee shore off the
Maplins. I wonder if I've done the right thing?"