The "Rosalie"
For some moments Mr. Armitage hardly knew what to say. When his first
feelings of astonishment subsided, he felt inclined to reprimand
Woodleigh for disobeying orders. Had the lad made a blunder the
consequences might have been serious--but he hadn't.
"After all," thought the Scoutmaster, "he did very well. Sort of
Nelson touch about that lad. If he acted with deliberate judgment,
and not through a sheer slice of luck, he's cut out for navigating
duties. 'Tany rate, I've had a good sound sleep, but I wouldn't have
slumbered so quietly had I known."
He went on deck. The _Olivette_ was riding to a single anchor in a
land-locked estuary, within a cable's length of Brightlingsea Hard.
He could hardly realize the fact.
"We thought we'd wait till the ebb makes before we run out a kedge,
sir," reported the Patrol-leader; "then she'll ride to her main
anchor and cable."
"Quite right," agreed Mr. Armitage. "What's the time? Eight o'clock.
Any breakfast going?"
There was. From the galley came the first appetizing smell of
grilling bacon. Warkworth, who revelled in the work in the galley,
was preparing a substantial meal, supplemented by coffee.
On his way aft Mr. Armitage touched Woodleigh on the shoulder.
"I've taught you as much as I know myself at this game, Woodleigh,"
he declared. "You don't happen to be acquainted with this part, I
suppose?"
"No, sir," replied the youngster. "It's those imaginary cruises we
used to work out on the chart that helped me."
"You ought to have turned me out when you sighted the Maplin,"
continued the Scoutmaster.
"Yes," agreed Woodleigh; "but you were sleeping soundly, sir. I
didn't like to disturb you."
Sitting on one of the lockers of the well was Mr. Murgatroyd, looking
rather tired; but he had lost the greyish hue that accompanies the
horrible sensation of sea-sickness.
"We've arrived, Mr. Murgatroyd," remarked the Scoutmaster cheerfully.
"Sooner than we expected, you see."
"And a jolly little spot it is!" declared the owner. "Who's ready for
breakfast? I'm as hungry as a hunter."
It was a jovial party that gathered round the long, folding table. In
spite of the strenuous passage and the lack of an uninterrupted
night's rest, the Sea Scouts were in high spirits. They realized that
the _Olivette_ had fought a battle with the elements, and that she
had emerged triumphantly out of the ordeal.
"You'll be all right here with a crew who know this part of the
coast," observed Mr. Armitage.
"Rather!" agreed Mr. Murgatroyd. "I wish, though, that some of you
lads could remain, but I know that's out of the question. What are
your plans?"
"We'll pack up and leave you as soon as possible," replied the
Scoutmaster. "We'll catch the first train to Colchester, and then on
to Yarmouth, get aboard the _Rosalie_ fairly early, and then we'll
make up arrears of sleep."
"Why not remain here until to-morrow?" asked the owner of the
_Olivette_.
"We'd have our rest at the wrong end, so to speak, if we did,"
explained Mr. Armitage. "If we're at our port of departure, we can
get under way directly the weather moderates, which we couldn't do if
the _Rosalie_ were at Yarmouth and we at Brightlingsea."
Breakfast over, the Sea Scouts prepared to evacuate their temporary
floating home. They were sorry to leave the _Olivette_, but regrets
were tempered by the knowledge that a bigger undertaking was awaiting
them.
Before they went ashore the _Olivette_ was cleaned down and tidied
up, her decks scrubbed, ropes coiled neatly down, and a kedge run
out.
Mr. Murgatroyd shook hands with every member of the crew, thanking
them for the real good time.
"I'll try to follow your example," he said, "and make some sort of a
sailor-man. It's never too late to learn, as I expect I've said
before."
"Decent old chap," remarked Peter Stratton, when the Sea Scouts
embarked in a ferry-boat and were taken ashore. "Wonder if the owner
of the _Rosalie_ is anything like him?"
"We won't know until we hand the yacht over," replied the
Scoutmaster. "He's not coming with us. That reminds me, I must send a
wire to our friend the Oxford Scoutmaster."
"Mr. Jackson?" asked Roche.
"Yes," was the reply. "You fellows are doing so well, that I feel out
of it; so, needing someone to keep me company, I invited Mr. Jackson
for the voyage from Yarmouth to Poole. He and I will have a rare,
good, lazy time, sitting on deck and watching you do the
donkey-work."
"I can see you doing that, sir," rejoined Hepburn, laughing. "Wonder
what the _Rosalie_ is like?"
"Possess your soul in patience for another six hours, Alan, and your
curiosity will, I hope, be satisfied," replied Mr. Armitage.
"Now," he added briskly, as the boat ran alongside the Hard,
"Flemming and Woodleigh, you had better be baggage-guard until we can
find some sort of conveyance to get the gear to the station. I'll go
to the post office. Anyone else coming?"
Everyone wanted to send off letters to relatives.
"Hang on a minute, Peter," said Flemming. "I want to scribble a line.
You might post it for me."
"I know a better plan," replied the Patrol-leader. "I'll buy picture
post cards for Woodleigh and you, and you can post them on the way to
the railway station."
About three o'clock in the afternoon the Sea Scouts arrived at Great
Yarmouth. Mr. Armitage was now on familiar ground, and the _Rosalie_
was quickly located lying alongside a wharf above the swing-bridge.
At first sight she was not prepossessing.
She was a straight-stemmed craft with a short counter,
schooner-rigged, her masts being set in "tabernacles", or vertical
troughs of wood, to enable them to be lowered in the event of her
having to pass under an immovable bridge. She had been grievously
neglected. Her hull was painted "battleship grey", or rather the
paint had been "slapped on" over her original coat of white. Her teak
topsides and coamings were weather-worn and black with the combined
action of salt water, rain, and sun. Her masts were painted the same
hideous colour as the hull, and someone in a sudden fit of zeal had
commenced scraping one and left the wood partly bare. The decks were
black with dirt and coal-dust, and generally she bore an air of utter
disrespectability.
"The old boat's been in Government service," explained the man in
whose charge she had been left. "Nice li'l ole boat she be, but she's
a regular beast in a seaway. Rolls like a barrel, she do. Here's the
key, sir."
'Tween decks things were more hopeful. Although there was dirt and
dust everywhere, everything was fairly dry.
Right aft, and gained by a companion-ladder from a very small
cockpit, was the main cabin, fitted throughout in teak, and
possessing four sofa berths. In the centre was a large table, while
there was more than 6 feet 6 inches headroom under the deck-beams.
Through the for'ard bulkhead of the saloon were two doorways, one
leading to a small, compact, and well-fitted galley, the other to a
single-berthed sleeping-cabin.
For'ard of these a solid bulkhead ran athwartships, completely
cutting off the engine-room from the owner's quarters.
The engine-room was gained by means of an almost vertical ladder. In
it were two twin motors of 30 horse-power, controlled, when running,
from a "sunk" wheel-house. Opening out of the engine-room was a
spacious forepeak, with folding-cot accommodation for six persons.
"We've got our work cut out to get shipshape before night," declared
Mr. Armitage briskly. "All hands to it, and we'll soon break the back
of the job."
The Sea Scouts were told off to their respective tasks. Stratton and
Hepburn tackled the work of scrubbing decks, airing sails, and
overhauling the running-gear. Roche and Flemming took on the
motor-room, running the engines, testing the controls, and seeing
"how things worked", in addition to gauging the contents of the
petrol and oil tanks, and "checking" the engineers' stores.
Woodleigh and Warkworth cleaned out the forepeak and the galley,
while the Scoutmaster toiled like a Trojan in the main cabin.
By six o'clock in the evening the _Rosalie_ was transformed into a
clean and tidy craft, the Sea Scouts' gear was packed away below, and
the galley fires were burning brightly. Half an hour later all hands
sat down to a plentiful meal in the saloon Then, dead tired with
their exertions, they turned in and slept until nearly eight the next
morning.
"No chance of a start to-day," declared Mr. Armitage. "The glass has
risen far too quickly. It means a repetition of the blow, but
possibly from another quarter."
"Would it be too rough outside, sir?" asked Hepburn. "The caretaker
told me that the _Rosalie_ was out in all weathers during the war,
winter and summer."
"It may not be too rough for the yacht," replied Mr. Armitage, "but
it may be too rough for us. Remember it's the human element that
counts. We don't know the _Rosalie_. She, no doubt, has her
peculiarities, which her former crew understood. We don't. We have to
find them out. See what I mean?"
"I suppose, sir," said Flemming, "that in your opinion we aren't
equal to the task."
"Not at all," declared the Scoutmaster. "Otherwise I wouldn't have
undertaken the contract. You are healthy, well-developed lads, but
you aren't equal to full-grown experienced men. Therefore I have to
be careful not to run unnecessary risks. We'll set canvas and see
what the gear's like. That requires practice, I can assure you."
"In case we have to stow sails in a hurry," added Stratton.
"Precisely," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Nothing afloat looks so bad as a
raw crew struggling ineffectually at stowing canvas. You should know
exactly what's what, which rope is which, so that you could find them
in the dark."
The sails were in excellent condition and the running-gear good. For
an hour the Sea Scouts practised hoisting and stowing staysail,
foresail, and mainsail, until Mr. Armitage expressed himself
satisfied.
"Now," he continued, addressing Roche and Flemming, the two
engineers, "we'll run the engines. We can spare you, Woodleigh, if
necessary, but the _Rosalie's_ twin engines ought to be less trouble
than the _Olivette's_ single one, because the controls are worked
from the deck. Hallo! This for me?"
The last sentence was addressed to a telegraph-boy standing on the
quayside with an orange-coloured envelope in his hand.
"Mr. Armitage," replied the messenger.
The Scoutmaster read the telegram. "No reply, thanks," he said.
The wire was from Mr. Jackson to say that he was leaving Liverpool
Street at eight.
"He'll be here just after twelve," said the Scoutmaster. "It's now
twenty past eleven, so Warkworth and Hepburn can go to the station to
meet him and bring him along. By Jove! It's piping up. We'll be lucky
if we are able to start to-morrow."