"Wounded"
"Alan's not hurrying himself," remarked Roche, when the appetizing
breakfast was half consumed.
"He certainly ought to have been back by this time," agreed Mr.
Armitage. "Perhaps he is entering into conversation with some French
Scouts."
"That reminds me," said Flemming, who also prided himself upon a
knowledge of the French language. "I was wondering what to say as an
exclamation when we are talking to these Scouts. For instance, what
is the usual translation of 'Well, I'm jiggered'?"
"I've rarely heard you say that, Flemming," observed Peter. "You
generally exclaim, 'Well, I'm blest', I notice."
"That's easily translated, then," rejoined Flemming. "It's merely:
_Je suis blessé._"
Apparently Eric's rendering of the phrase satisfied his companions.
Mr. Armitage smiled to himself, but said nothing. He was rather
curious to know what would happen when Flemming expressed himself
thus.
"I'll let it go at that," concluded Flemming. "Now, what about Alan,
you fellows? Hadn't we better send out a search-party?"
Stratton and Roche volunteered to accompany Eric, and receiving the
Scoutmaster's permission, they went ashore.
Inquiries of people on the quay soon put the searchers on the track.
The young English Sea Scout had been a fairly conspicuous feature on
the French landscape. After proceeding down three or four streets,
Flemming received the startling information that the lost youth had
been seen taken into the police-station under the care of a gendarme.
"What's he been doing, I wonder?" asked Roche. "Butting up against
some rotten red-tape regulation, I expect. Hadn't we better inform
Mr. Armitage?"
"Let's make certain that Alan's under arrest first," suggested the
Patrol Leader, and, led by a gamin, the Sea Scouts proceeded to the
police-station.
At the door they nearly collided with the lost youth. Hepburn,
looking rather red in the face, showed no enthusiasm at seeing his
chums.
"I made a mistake," he admitted. "I mistook the police-station for
the post-office, and it took me some time to explain."
Flemming roared with merriment.
"You're a bright one!" he exclaimed. "I know what you did: you asked
for '_le poste_' instead of '_la poste_'. The first means a
police-station, the second a post-office. That's one up against you,
my festive."
The letters having been stamped and posted, the four Sea Scouts
returned to the _Olivette_, where Hepburn made a belated breakfast to
the accompaniment of a running fire of chaff from his chums.
"You wait," declared Alan, imperturbably; "I'll score off you fellows
yet."
The breakfast things having been washed up and stowed away, the Sea
Scouts set to work to scrub decks and make the _Olivette_ look a
credit to them. By the time this task was accomplished the gates of
the Bassin-à-Flot were opened. In four hours the _Olivette_ had been
lifted vertically through a height of eighteen feet by the rising
tide.
"You see now why I want to try and bring the boat into the
floating-dock," observed Mr. Armitage. "If we remained in the tidal
harbour we would have to be continually altering the scope of the
warps as the level of the water changed. Here we are relieved of that
trouble and responsibility, and there is no necessity to have to
ascend and descend the long ladder to get ashore or on board at low
water."
The _Olivette_ safely moored, the Sea Scouts prepared for a ramble
ashore, to see the sights of the town. Flemming was not one of the
party, having been told off to act as ship-keeper; while old Tom
Boldrigg was making up for his prolonged trick as look-out man by
sleeping soundly on one of the locker seats in the well.
While his comrades were seeing the sights, Eric Flemming had by no
means a dull time. It quickly dawned upon him that the many
advantages of the Bassin-à-Flot were outdone by the obvious
disadvantages of the place. The hot sun pouring down upon the
enclosed space of water was too strong to be pleasant, especially
when the heat caused the garbage floating upon the surface to emit
most unpleasant odours.
It was Flemming's first experience of a "wet" dock, and before very
long he sincerely hoped it might prove his last.
After a while Eric went below to escape the glare. He had not been in
the cabin more than five minutes before a dull thud sounded on the
deck over his head. Then came another thud, followed by others in
quick succession, until Flemming realized that the _Olivette_ was
being bombarded.
Putting on his cap, the lad gained the well. Almost as soon as he
stepped outside the cabin door a missile hit him on the head.
Fortunately the thick sailor's cap with its white cap-cover mitigated
the blow, but even then it was sufficient to make the lad wince.
He quickly took in the situation. Ten or twelve ragged gamins were
gathered on the edge of the quay, engaged in the pleasant and
congenial task of hurling stones and cabbage-stalks upon the
_Olivette's_ deck and raised cabin-top.
"_Alles-vous-en!_" shouted Flemming. The boys retreated a few steps,
but seeing that the Sea Scout made no attempt to follow up his
advantage, they held their ground, jeering and redoubling their fire.
Eric hardly knew what course to pursue. It was not good form to start
scrapping on foreign soil. A jolly sound hiding, he reflected, would
do the gamins a world of good, but there were the after results to be
taken into consideration. If each of the aggressors went away and
returned with two or three pals, the _Olivette_ would hardly be
tenable under a terrific fusillade of stones and garbage. On the
other hand, he could not allow the boat to be made into a sort of
maritime Aunt Sally for the edification of a crowd of juvenile
ruffians.
He might have parleyed with them, or bribed them to go away quietly,
but this method did not appeal to his British spirit. He was alone.
Old Boldrigg was sleeping profoundly, quite oblivious to the tocsin
sounding over his head.
Springing ashore, Flemming rushed at his tormentors. They turned and
fled incontinently, although several of them were bigger than Eric.
He chased them for about fifty yards along the quay, and then
returned to the _Olivette_.
But the retreat was only temporary. The moment Flemming regained the
deck the gamins returned, the number considerably augmented, while a
crowd of men engaged in unloading a schooner ceased their work to
watch and enjoy the scene.
Flemming waited until the first missile of the renewed attack hurtled
through the air, then he charged his assailants. Again the latter
took to their heels, but Eric meant to see the business through this
time.
Overtaking and ignoring the smaller and weaker of the boys, he held
on until he collared a tall, hulking fellow, who was one of the
ringleaders. Applying a very effective arm-lock, Flemming made his
captive accompany him to the _Olivette_.
"Now I've found a hostage," thought Eric, as he deftly drew the lad's
arms behind him and round the mast and lashed the wrists together.
"They won't dare to hurl things on board now."
But he was mistaken. The gamins found increased delight in pelting
their former leader. Perhaps they had a grudge against him. There he
stood, yelling and bawling threats against his fellows until Flemming
felt obliged to release him.
"'Spose I must grin and bear it until the others return," he
soliloquized, as the boys renewed the bombardment.
Suddenly the gamins, uttering shouts of warning, took to their heels.
Looking to see what had caused the flight, Flemming saw a troop of
French Scouts doubling along the quay. There were two patrols--about
fourteen Scouts in all--but before them, the gamins, numbering
between forty and fifty, simply melted away.
The Patrol Leader saluted Flemming courteously, and the Sea Scout
smartly returned the salute. Then in a curious mixture of French and
English and a broken attempt at both, the Scouts and the Sea Scout
engaged in a "palaver".
It was rather a one-sided affair. A dozen French Scouts were talking
and asking questions simultaneously, while the English Sea Scout
hardly knew which remark to reply to.
"I have been to l'Angleterre," declared one of the Scouts. "Ze last
summaire I vas at Sout'ampton at ze rally."
"I was there, too," replied Flemming; then using his Gallicized
version of his favourite ejaculation, he added, "_Je suis blessé._"
The effect was startling and electrical. There was a brief pause
following Eric's words. A dozen Scouts invaded the _Olivette_.
Grasped by several pairs of hands, the astonished Flemming, too taken
aback to offer any resistance, was gently deposited upon the deck. A
confused babel greeted his ears, one of the most frequently used
words being "_blessé_". Several of the French Scouts produced a
packet of bandages and a first-aid outfit, while there were shouts
raised for "_le médecin_".
"What's the game," thought the bewildered Flemming. "Are they giving
a first-aid demonstration and using me as a subject, just to show how
they go about it?"
Someone placed a pile of rolled coats under his head. His shoes and
stockings were deftly removed. His jersey was peeled off, although it
looked at one time as if the French Scouts meditated cutting it away.
They felt his heart and his pulse, and tried to examine his tongue.
In the midst of the demonstration, the timely arrival of Mr. Armitage
and the rest of the Sea Scouts saved Flemming from further unrequired
attention. Quickly the well-meaning and excitable French lads were
induced to desist, and Eric was allowed to regain his feet.
"What have you been doing, Flemming?" asked his Scoutmaster. "Have
you hurt yourself?"
"No, sir," replied Eric.
"Then why are these Scouts on board with their first-aid bandages?"
"I don't know, sir; I'm blessed if I do!" declared Flemming. "I was
just talking to them, and----"
"I suppose you said, 'Well, I'm blessed' in French," added Mr.
Armitage with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"I certainly remember saying '_Je suis blessé_'," admitted Flemming,
who was beginning to feel a bit dubious as to whether what he had
said was what he meant to say.
"That did it," continued Mr. Armitage. "I knew it would happen before
very long. '_Je suis blessé_' is not 'I'm blessed' but 'I am
wounded'. Hurry up and go below and get dressed properly."
The discomfited Flemming beat a hasty retreat amidst the laughter of
his companions.