Trapped by the Tide
It was one of those ideal days for cruising under power. The sea was
smooth, visibility good, with the sun shining brightly overhead. The
rugged coast, never more than a mile away on the port hand, presented
an ever changing panoramic view of the picturesque Dorset coast.
With Woodleigh at the helm and Roche giving an occasional look at the
smoothly-running motor, the rest of the crew knew that they had
nothing to worry about. Slipping off their jerseys, they lay upon the
deck, basking in the glorious sunshine, too happy and contented even
to indulge in conversation beyond a few words of appreciative
admiration or the superb view.
"Port helm a couple of points, Woodleigh," ordered the Patrol Leader,
after consulting the chart. "We'll have to give Kimmeridge Ledges a
wide berth."
Mr. Armitage, hearing the caution, nodded his head approvingly.
Stratton had acted upon his own initiative in spite of being a
stranger to this part of the coast. The Scoutmaster had placed the
responsibility upon the lad's shoulders, and Peter had shown that the
trust had not been accepted lightly.
"Isn't that where the _Treveal_ was wrecked two winters ago, sir?"
asked Flemming.
"Yes," replied Mr. Armitage, pointing shorewards. "About there. Every
vestige of the vessel has disappeared by this time. It's a bad piece
of coast, with parallel reefs extending seawards. A vessel doesn't
stand a dog's chance if she gets held up on those ledges."
"Why don't they have a lighthouse?" asked Hepburn. "One on St.
Alban's Head would warn seamen."
"I don't know," replied Mr. Armitage. "If there had been one where
you suggest, Alan, it would have saved a good many precious lives.
You see, Anvil Point Lighthouse, which is hidden by St. Alban's Head,
is useless to a ship that is driven too close inshore. Now then, you
fellows, unless you want a ducking, you'd better come aft. We're
nearing the Race."
Less than half a mile ahead the otherwise smooth sea was agitated
with a patch of white-crested breakers extending seawards for more
than a couple of miles. Even at that distance the waves looked
decidedly dangerous.
"We've got to go through that, sir?" asked Warkworth. "Isn't there
any way to avoid it?"
"By keeping a tremendous way out," replied the Scoutmaster. "It's
fairly rough, but I've known it decidedly worse. Woodleigh."
"Sir?"
"Steer straight for the headland now. There's plenty of water. We
shall probably miss a lot of the race by keeping close to the
cliff--twenty yards will be near enough."
"What causes a race, sir?" asked the Tenderfoot.
"The tide surging over a submerged ledge," replied Mr. Armitage.
"It's deep water on both sides of the headland and only a few fathoms
over the rocks extending seawards from it. Now, you fellows, all
hands into the well; we don't want anyone slung overboard into the
ditch."
"The dinghy, sir?" inquired Flemming.
"She won't hurt. Her painter's sound," replied the Scoutmaster.
"There's enough scope to prevent her overrunning us and smashing her
bows under our counter."
In another minute the _Olivette_ was within the influence of the
race. At first she began to yaw in spite of the helmsman's efforts to
keep her on her course. It seemed as if a giant hand was gripping the
boat's keel and playfully shaking the hull.
Then, almost without warning, a sea poured over the starboard
quarter. Much of the water was checked by the coaming, but a
considerable quantity found its way below, liberally besprinkling the
crew. Almost immediately after, another cataract poured in over the
port quarter. For a moment it felt as if the _Olivette_ were dropping
vertically, then another sea, slapping viciously against her
starboard bow, threw her head off a good four points.
The helmsman ported helm to meet the deflection, but for some seconds
the vessel refused to answer. Almost the whole of the rudder was out
of water, while the propeller was racing madly in the air.
The passage through the race was of short duration, but it was fairly
strenuous while it lasted. Then, as suddenly as she had entered the
turmoil, the _Olivette_ glided into practically calm water.
"Ugh!" ejaculated Flemming, shaking the water from his clothes. "I
don't like races; give me a straightforward heavy sea any old day. I
expected the old boat to break her back."
"It is a disconcerting motion, I admit," said Mr. Armitage. "The
waves are so hollow that the boat was not evenly supported. But it
would take more than that to break her back, Eric."
Dancing Ledge and Anvil Point were quickly passed. The crew were
deeply interested in the famous Tilly Whim Caves, where for centuries
smugglers and wreckers were in almost indisputable possession. Then
the lads had a clear view of the granite "globe", although they were
a bit disappointed at its size.
"It's not much bigger than a football," declared Woodleigh.
"Isn't it?" remarked Mr. Armitage drily. "You wouldn't care to have
to kick it, Will. You've lost your sense of proportion. The magnitude
of the cliffs deceives you. See a buoy ahead?"
"On our starboard bow, sir."
"Then keep it well to port. That marks the tail of Peveril Ledge.
You'll see Swanage opening out in a minute or so."
A few miles farther on and the granite cliffs gave place to frowning
walls of glistening white chalk, terminating in the well-known
pinnacle of Old Harry.
"We're getting into familiar waters now," said the Scoutmaster. "We
were close--rather too close--to that point when we rescued the S.S.
_Pent-y-coote_."
"But we never saw the land," added Flemming.
"No; but we might have hit it," remarked Mr. Armitage gravely.
"Providence was kind to us that day. Hello, Peter what is interesting
you--the Parson's Barn?"
The Patrol Leader was gazing landwards towards a large cave close to
Old Harry.
"There are some people waving to us, sir," he replied.
"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Armitage sharply; then raising his binoculars he
brought them to bear upon the spot indicated by the Patrol Leader.
"Friends of yours, Peter?" inquired Flemming facetiously. The
Scoutmaster returned his binoculars to their case.
"Stand in a bit," he ordered. "There's plenty of water. Slow her
down, Roche, and stand by. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, those people
are cut off by the tide."
The _Olivette_ approached at half speed to within a cable's length of
the shore. Mr Armitage was correct in his surmise, for, standing on a
narrow strip of beach were two men and two girls. The men were
barefooted, as if they had vainly attempted to wade past the foot of
the cliffs. Already the tide was rising rapidly, and in less than an
hour their refuge would be invaded by the sea.
"Away dinghy's crew!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Be careful how you
land. There's a ground swell running."
The _Olivette_ lost way. The dinghy was hauled alongside, and into
her jumped Stratton and Flemming, each manning an oar.
Proceeding cautiously, they allowed the dinghy's forefoot to ground
lightly on the pebbly beach. Flemming, with an oar, kept the stern
end on to the waves, while the Patrol Leader held on to the bows.
"Think we'll manage the lot, Peter?" asked Flemming in a low voice.
"Four of them?"
"I think so," replied the Patrol Leader.
"Now, please," he added, raising his voice. "As sharp as you can.
We're bumping a bit."
It was a tricky operation, embarking the rescued persons, for none of
them seemed at home in a small boat.
"Sit down, please," ordered Stratton firmly. "You'll be quite all
right if you keep still. Ready, Eric? Right-o, push off."
By the united efforts of the two Sea Scouts the dinghy was backed
clear of the beach. Then, when clear of the swell, the boat was
turned until her bow pointed seaward.
"Give way together!" exclaimed Peter.
Awkwardly the four trippers climbed out of the dinghy upon the
_Olivette's_ deck, whence they were assisted into the well.
"Rather an experience, isn't it?" remarked Mr. Armitage.
"Experience?" echoed one of the men bitterly. "It was a disgraceful
bit of work. A boatman told us we could walk right round the point.
We could--but we couldn't get back. He never said a word about the
tide rising."
"And you never thought to ask," mused the Scoutmaster. "There's not
much harm done," he added aloud. "We'll land you in half an hour. Are
you staying at Swanage?"
"No, at Bournemouth," replied one of the girls, who, now that the
danger was over, showed more spirit than either of her male
companions.
"So much the better, then," observed Mr. Armitage. "We can land you
without going out of our course."
"We are awfully grateful," said the girl.
"And we are glad to be able to do you a good turn," rejoined Mr.
Armitage. "That's where Sea Scouts come in handy."