The Squall
"There are worse things than being weather-bound with a crew of Sea
Scouts," observed Mr. Jackson that same evening. "You've a lively lot
of lads, Armitage, and they keep you amused, I'm sure."
"They're not so dusty," admitted Mr. Armitage modestly. He was
reluctant to "spout" over the merits of the lads he had himself
trained. "I've had inexperienced crews in the old R.N.V.R. days, and
managed to lick 'em into shape, and in their initial stages they
weren't equal to these lads, yet we had to go to sea with them and
stand a chance of knocking up against Fritz in addition."
"To say nothing of bumping on a mine," added the Oxford Scoutmaster.
Mr. Armitage nodded assent.
"And the danger still exists," he continued. "I haven't said anything
to my youngsters, because I didn't consider it advisable. But the
fact remains that there are stray floating mines that can hardly be
seen owing to their being smothered with barnacles and weeds. And
they'll be knocking around for years, I'm afraid."
"There wouldn't be much left of the _Rosalie_ if she struck one,"
commented Mr. Jackson.
"No, indeed," agreed his companion. "There would be one
consolation--we wouldn't know anything about it. However, the North
Sea is wide, so we can but trust in Providence."
"What do you make of the weather?" asked Mr. Jackson.
Mr. Armitage glanced aloft. In the twilight the dark clouds were not
scudding so rapidly as they had done earlier in the day.
"Change of wind, I fancy," he replied. "Glass is rising slowly. One
hardly knows what to make of the weather nowadays, and the forecasts
in the paper are generally hopelessly wrong. Well, shall we turn in?
If there's any chance of making a passage to-morrow, we'll start."
At 5 a.m. all hands turned out, bathed, and had breakfast. It was
still blowing fairly fresh, but the wind had veered through west and
was now practically nor'-west.
"Off-shore wind," observed the Scoutmaster. "We'll be all right as
far as Harwich, so get busy."
The Sea Scouts needed no second bidding. Roche and Flemming, donning
overalls, dived below to the engine-room. The others, assisted by Mr.
Jackson, set to work to lower the masts to allow the _Rosalie_ to
pass under the bridge.
Precisely at eight o'clock the Red Ensign was hoisted, the warps cast
off, and the yacht, under power, started on her long voyage.
By the time she had taken to traverse the long stretch of river that
enters the North Sea at Gorleston, Peter Stratton had made himself
acquainted with _Rosalie's_ steering capabilities, in spite of the
fact that navigation was rather complicated owing to the number of
fishing-boats under way in the narrow channel.
"Look out for the tide setting across the pierheads," cautioned the
Scoutmaster.
The North Sea was not looking at its best. Although the wind was off
shore, there was a nasty "lop" off the entrance to the harbour. Even
the lightship was pounding heavily, cascades of water pouring through
her hawse-pipes as she lifted to the waves; sailing-coasters were
rolling badly in spite of their reduced canvas; and tramps, with
trysails set to steady them, were lurching along, leaving a long,
almost horizontal trail of smoke far to leeward.
"Thick out there," observed Hepburn. "As bad as we had round the
Maplins. We're rolling a bit too."
There was no doubt about it, the _Rosalie_ could and did roll. With
the wind abeam her decks were soon wet. It was almost impossible for
the crew to move without holding on, and, except for the small
wheel-house, there was no protection on deck from the wind and spray.
"We'll see what a little canvas will do," said Mr. Armitage. "She's
stiff enough. Up with trysail and mainsail, lads."
Quickly the canvas bellied to the quartering wind, and, as the sheets
were hove taut, the _Rosalie_ no longer rolled like a barrel. The
disconcerting motion gave place to a rhythmic glide as she lifted
gracefully to the waves.
"A good ten or eleven knots," declared Mr. Armitage. "She's as stiff
as a house. We'll have the foresail set and stop the engines."
This was done. Although the speed fell off to a bare five knots, the
yacht was carrying her tide and simply waltzing past the shore.
"Give me sail for pleasure any old day," declared Mr. Jackson.
"Petrol's all very well if you're in a hurry, but when all's said and
done canvas wants a lot of beating."
The Sea Scouts revelled in the situation. With the breeze being true
and in their favour, they could lie on the deck and enjoy the view,
as the _Rosalie_ slipped past Lowestoft and made short work of it
towards Southwold. Close in under the land they were no longer
subjected to clouds of spray, and the tardy appearance of the sun
gave a finishing touch to their enjoyment.
There was no immediate hurry. They had plenty of time to cover the
fifty odd miles between Yarmouth and Harwich, where Mr. Armitage had
decided to put in for the night. A series of short passages was
preferable to making a direct run across to the Forelands with the
prospect of finding themselves off Dover in the dark, and the
Scoutmaster knew from experience the effect of carrying on and
depriving the crew of a much-needed rest. If occasion demanded, he
would be equal to it, but he preferred otherwise.
So the _Rosalie_ held on, passing close to Aldborough, and giving the
low-lying Orfordness a wide berth, and at 5 p.m., without having had
to touch a single sheet from the time canvas had been set, Hepburn
reported a lightship on the port bow.
"That's the Cork," said Stratton, consulting the chart. "We're
getting near Harwich. Any tea going, Woodleigh? Now's our chance
before we stow canvas."
Mr. Armitage, after glancing to windward, gave Hepburn directions as
to the course.
"We'll leave you to it, Alan," he said. "If you want anything, give a
hail. We'll keep your tea hot."
The rest of the crew went below, where a sumptuous meal was being
served in the main cabin, leaving Hepburn in the wheel-house.
Woodleigh had provided his companions (and incidentally himself) with
a generous and wholesome repast. He rather prided himself upon his
skill as a cook at sea, and he certainly did himself justice.
Hungry as hunters, the two Scoutmasters and five boys seated
themselves round the swing table, and Mr. Armitage began pouring out
tea, while Woodleigh served out a helping of cold veal and ham pie.
Suddenly, just as everyone was settling down to his tea, the
_Rosalie_, which had hitherto been heeling at an almost constant
angle, lurched violently to leeward. Stratton, Flemming, and
Warkworth, their chairs slipping from under them, rolled in a heap
upon the floor, while Mr. Jackson, in a vain endeavour to prevent
himself from being pitched across the cabin, subsided heavily upon
the table. It tilted under his weight, and the next moment everything
that had been placed upon it slithered on the struggling trio of
prostrate Sea Scouts.
There was no time to waste in contemplating the scene of chaos. The
yacht was well down on her beam ends. In a thrice Mr. Armitage dashed
up the companion-ladder and gained the deck.
A violent squall, its approach unnoticed by Hepburn in the sheltered
wheel-house, had swept down upon the _Rosalie_. The first intimation
the young helmsman had was finding the yacht heel until half a dozen
planks of her deck were awash. It was only by holding on to the
spokes of the wheel that he saved himself from being thrown heavily
against the plate-glass window.
"Luff!" shouted the Scoutmaster, as he hauled himself along by the
weather-rail towards the wheel-house.
Hepburn was already endeavouring to luff, but, although he put the
helm hard-a-port, the yacht showed no tendency to fly up into the
wind. Pinned down by the closely-set staysail, she simply lay over
and refused to recover.
Literally sliding to leeward until he stood knee-deep in water
against the lee rail, Mr. Armitage cast of the staysail sheet. The
heavy triangular canvas slatted in the wind, the sheet block flogging
to and fro in a manner that resisted all attempts on the part of the
Scoutmaster to secure it. The while the sail was making a noise like
the cracking of a gigantic whip.
Relieved of the tremendous pressure, the _Rosalie_ recovered from her
dangerous list, but it was not until Mr. Armitage, assisted by
Stratton and Roche, who had followed him on deck, had lowered and
stowed the staysail that the yacht came up head to wind.
"That was a nasty one!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage breathlessly. "Start
the motors, Roche--sharp as you can!"
Not a little scared, the rest of the crew lowered and secured the
mainsail, while the _Rosalie_, under bare poles, fell broadside on to
the waves, which in a very short time had assumed huge and
threatening proportions. It was an off-shore squall, and none the
less dangerous on that account, and until Roche and Flemming got the
motors going the _Rosalie_ had a particularly bad time.
It was raining heavily. Already the shore, although less than two
miles away, was blotted out. The wind shrieked through the rigging,
blinding showers of spray enveloped the wheel-house, and solid masses
of water pounded the heaving, slippery deck.
In ten minutes the squall was over. The sun shone brightly, and
although the waves ran high they were no longer dangerous, while dead
to windward lay the secure harbour of Harwich.
"Why didn't you luff when you saw it coming, Alan?" asked Mr.
Armitage.
"I did, sir, but she wouldn't answer," said Hepburn.
"I'm to blame," soliloquized the Scoutmaster. "That's a lesson never
to leave the deck with only a youngster in charge. I ought to have
known that the _Rosalie's_ canvas is only an auxiliary to her motors,
and not the motors to the canvas. She's not built as a sailing-craft,
and she won't go about under sail alone. So in future I'll bear that
in mind."
Twenty minutes later the _Rosalie_ moored alongside a barge in a
basin on the Felixstowe side of the harbour, and her crew had an
opportunity of investigating the damage.
The saloon presented a picture of utter chaos. The floor was
literally paved with fragments of crockery, cemented with jam,
marmalade, and greasy gravy. On this conglomeration of debris the
cushions on the windward bunk had been hurled, together with the
contents of a bookcase which had been wrenched from its fastenings by
the abnormal list.
In the galley things were almost as bad, but the fo'c'sle came off
lightly. That was mainly owing to the methodical stowing of gear by
the lads themselves, and the few kit-bags that had been dislodged
were quickly replaced.
It was rough luck to have to set to work to clear up after a long
day's run, but the Sea Scouts tackled the job manfully and
cheerfully, and in less than an hour and a half the _Rosalie_ 'tween
decks was reduced to a state of order.
"We were not the only craft in that squall, sir," reported Stratton.
"There's a tug coming in with two dismasted boats."
The two Scoutmasters and the rest of the Sea Scouts hurried on deck.
Passing the entrance to the basin was a fussy little steamer towing
two large "bawleys". One of the latter showed about ten feet of mast
ending in a jagged stump. The other's mast had been snapped off close
to the deck, and evidently her crew had been compelled to cut the
sails and wreckage clear. The first boat was more fortunate, for her
spars and canvas were lashed to her deck.
"Hard lines," commented Mr. Armitage; "but those fellows' plight
rather vindicates us. If two professionally-manned fishing-boats are
dismasted without warning, we were fortunate in merely being thrown
on our beam ends without losing any of our deck-gear. Now, lads, turn
in. Glass is rising slowly, and the sky's red. With luck, we'll be in
Dover to-morrow night."