All Hands to the Pumps
Leaving the Tenderfoot at the helm, Flemming leapt into the well and
thence into the engine-room.
"It must have been that biff when the barge fouled us!" he exclaimed.
"Look! the floor-boards are awash!"
Eric went to the semi-rotary bilge-pump and began working the lever
desperately. Meanwhile Rayburn had shouted for "Easy ahead."
The moment Roche put the engine in gear the _Olivette_ "squatted", as
she always did when under way; in other words, her bows rose and her
stern dipped correspondingly. The result was that a lot of water that
had found its way into the boat ran aft and the flywheel no longer
gave an aquatic display, but subsequent examination found that the
level of the bilge-water rose nearly six inches above the floor of
the after-cabin.
Flemming kept on pumping for nearly twenty minutes, but the
semi-rotary failed to "suck air". It seemed positive that the pump
was unable to cope with the inflow of water.
"Where are we now?" he asked breathlessly.
Roche passed the question on to Phil Rayburn.
"Nearly there," replied the Tenderfoot. "It's slow work against the
stream."
"We'll have to beach her, I'm afraid," said Flemming.
"No good doing that now," objected Roche; "she'd fill on the rising
tide. Besides, if there's much of a bore here, she'd be damaged still
more. You stand by here, old thing, and I'll give you a spell at the
pump."
"We're nearly there," announced the Tenderfoot. "Who's going to pick
up the moorings?"
Leaving Flemming at the reversing-lever, Roche "knocked off" pumping
and went on deck. Boat-hook in hand, he waited to make a grasp at the
mooring-buoy, to which was attached the water-logged planks and
timbers of what had been a smart, serviceable dinghy.
"I bet that kid makes a bog of it," soliloquized Roche, who knew from
personal experience how easy it is to blunder in picking up moorings.
But his fears were groundless. With a confidence inspired by previous
success, Phil brought the _Olivette_ to a standstill within a couple
of feet of the mooring-buoy.
"Got it!" yelled Dick as he fished the cork float on board and took a
turn round the bitts with the chain-bridle.
"Finished with the engines," shouted the Tenderfoot.
Flemming cut off the ignition. The motor clanked into a state of
somnolence; then, having turned off the feed to the carburetter, Eric
devoted his attention to the bilge-pump once more.
Presently Roche came below.
"There's not a sign of the others," he announced. "What on earth can
have happened to them, I wonder? It's nearly half-past one."
He caught sight of Rayburn, who was stifling a yawn.
"You did jolly well, Phil!" he exclaimed. "We would have been in a
pretty kettle of fish if you hadn't been here. But you're tired. How
about turning in?"
"I'm not tired, really," protested the Tenderfoot. "I'll take a turn
at the pump if you like."
"Right-o," agreed Dick. "We may have to have spells at it all night;
but I think I'll try to find out where it's coming in and have a go
at stopping it."
Switching on his electric torch, Roche squeezed through the small
doorway between the engine-room and the forepeak. He could hear an
ominous trickle coming from the neighbourhood of the chain-locker.
Investigations resulted in the discovery that the _Olivette's_ bows
had been badly damaged in spite of the partial protection afforded by
the "pudding" fender. Several planks had been started on either side
of the stem, and although most of the damage was above water-line,
there was a considerable leak where a seam or two had burst.
Procuring some grease and cotton-waste, Dick proceeded to caulk the
faulty seams, but his efforts in that direction were rewarded with
poor success. It was impracticable to use any degree of force,
because the fastenings of the planks were in such a weak state that
the planks themselves began to give; and without ramming the caulking
well home, the cotton-waste would not remain in position.
"Better let well alone," decided Roche. "It's jolly tedious work
manning the pump, but we'll keep the old hooker afloat."
Having reported the result of his investigations, Roche proposed that
each of the three Sea Scouts should take fifteen-minute tricks at the
pump.
"That will give each of us half-an-hour spells," he added. "One or
both of the others can stop on deck to keep a look-out for the
liberty men."
"P'r'aps they are not 'liberty men' any longer," remarked Flemming.
"It's jolly rummy that they haven't shown up before this. Right-o,
Dick; I'll take on with the pumping."
Roche and the Tenderfoot went on deck. The tide was still ebbing. The
wind had dropped, and hardly a sound disturbed the stillness of the
night except the ripple of the water against the _Olivette's_ bows,
and the monotonous chug-chug of the semi-rotary pump.
A steamer's navigation lights appeared up-stream. She was heading
towards the anchored _Olivette_. Rayburn glanced at his companion.
"It's all right," said Dick reassuringly. "She's coming round a bend;
that's why she appears end on. She'll starboard her helm in half a
tick."
But the vessel held on until even Roche began to think that there
would be a collision. He glanced aloft to make sure that the
_Olivette's_ riding-lamp was burning brightly.
The steamer reversed engines, and lost way within twenty yards of the
_Olivette_. A hoarse voice hailed in an unintelligible patois. Dick
caught but two words, "_gabare_" and "_abandonnée_".
"_A l'ancre.... A l'autre côté.... Sept kilomètres en bas_,"
replied Roche, guessing that the strange craft was the tug they had
seen earlier in the night, and that, having missed one of her
charges, had returned in search of the derelict barge.
To his no small satisfaction, Roche found that his halting reply was
understood, for, with a "_Merci beaucoup, m'sieu_", the skipper of
the tug rang for full speed ahead.
Barely was the steamboat out of sight when the _Olivette_ began to
rock violently. It was not the swell of the tug that had caused the
commotion; it was the turn of the tide and the tail-end of the bore
in a succession of waves of about four feet in height.
The erratic rolling and pitching alarmed Flemming considerably, for
the water in the bilges gushed between the floor-boards and swirled
ankle-deep from side to side.
"She's leaking fast," he shouted.
Roche went below. Already the water was subsiding into the bilges,
but it was evident that, in spite of continuous work at the pump, the
leak was not being kept under.
"It'll be as much as we can do to keep going till daylight," declared
Flemming as he "handed over" to his chum. "The best thing we can do
is to get a bucket going. I'll bale, and pass the bucket up to Phil
for him to sling overboard."
"Good idea," agreed Roche, turning up his sleeves and grasping the
handle of the pump. "We'll keep her afloat, old thing, even if it
snows ink."