The Adventures of the "Liberty Men"
The "liberty men" had rather overdone things. Their ramble through
the Forest of Jumièges was too much of an undertaking for the short
space of time at their disposal.
Twilight overtook them almost before they were aware of the fact, and
long before they were clear of the forest it was pitch dark.
"If we keep on in a straight line," declared Mr. Armitage, "we'll
strike the river somewhere. Now, you woodcraftsmen, lead on, or we'll
get no supper to-night."
It was easy to say "Keep in a straight line", but the accomplishment
was difficult. Not only was the ground thickly covered with trees--it
was hilly, and in places rugged. The recognized methods failed. The
Sea Scouts knew that the wind was an easterly one, but in the depth
of the forest there was no appreciable air-current. The foliage
overhead hid the stars, so another guide was denied the benighted
lads.
"Moss and lichen always grow on the north side of a tree-trunk,"
quoted Hepburn. "Where's your torch, Peter? Shine it this way."
An examination not only of one, but of many tree-trunks, resulted in
the discovery that mosses and lichen were not in evidence. The third
clue had also let the Sea Scouts down.
"Carry on, then," suggested Mr. Armitage, "until we find a path. It's
bound to lead somewhere."
It took twenty minutes' steady progress through the undergrowth
before they found a path. It was narrow and apparently unfrequented.
Once a big animal--about the size of a bullock, declared
Warkworth--crashed through the brushwood about ten feet ahead of the
lads.
"We must have tramped miles," declared Woodleigh. "I believe we're
going round in circles."
"I fancy we're nearly out of the wood," said the Scoutmaster. "I can
feel a breeze. Yes, I thought so."
The edge of the forest at last. It was now nearly eleven o'clock. Far
below could be discerned the sinuous course of the River Seine.
Nearer, and at a fair distance down the hill, lights gleamed from a
small village.
"That must be Le Mesnil," decided Mr. Armitage, after he had
consulted a map by the aid of an electric torch. "It's all plain
sailing now. We'll follow the river bank. It's only six miles to
Duclair. Come on: Scouts' pace, forward."
Encouraged by the Scoutmaster's example, the tired and hungry lads
bucked up considerably. Alternately walking and running fifty paces
they covered the intervening distance in an hour and twenty minutes,
arriving at the landing-place at a quarter past twelve. Old Boldrigg,
now sure of his bearings, followed at a leisurely pace.
"_Olivette_ ahoy!" shouted Peter.
There was no reply save the mocking echoes of his voice from the
opposite bank. He hailed again, giving the Patrol cry.
"The lazy blighters have turned in," he declared, and hailed for the
third time.
"Where's her riding-lamp?" asked Alan. "I believe she's gone--broken
adrift, or something."
Mr. Armitage already had his doubts on the subject. Bringing out his
night-glasses, he focused them on the spot where the _Olivette_ ought
to have been moored. With difficulty he located the vacant buoy, to
which was attached something low in the water and straining in the
strong tide-way.
"The _Olivette_ isn't there," he declared. "I don't think she's
broken adrift, or the mooring-buoy would have gone with her. I hope
Roche hasn't got into a panic about our late arrival and gone off in
search of us."
"He couldn't expect to find us in the river, sir," remarked
Woodleigh.
"S'pose not," admitted Mr. Armitage. "But to get down to rock-bottom
facts, the _Olivette's_ not on the moorings and we're benighted."
"Perhaps she was in a prohibited anchorage, sir," suggested Peter,
"and the River Police have shifted her."
"No, I inquired if she would be all right there," replied the
Scoutmaster. "She can't be very far away. Roche would have dropped
the anchor when he found her adrift. Anyone too tired to join in the
search? How about you, Mr. Boldrigg?"
"I am a bit, sir," admitted the old man, who had just rejoined the
others. "But it ain't no good hangin' on to the slack when there's a
hammock waiting for me on board. So the sooner we find the hooker the
better for everyone, says I."
The Sea Scouts retraced their way, keeping to the bank of the river.
There were a few craft under way, but in the darkness it was
impossible to distinguish what they were.
It must have been soon after 2 a.m. that the search-party arrived at
the village of Jumièges. Here, fortunately a rowing boat containing
a belated fishing-party had just returned.
In answer to Mr. Armitage's inquiry, the four people who had just
landed--they were Parisian art-students on holiday--all replied at
once.
"Yes, monsieur, we did see a motor-boat. She passed close, very
close, to our little boat. She was towing a large lighter."
The Scoutmaster felt disappointed.
"I am afraid that is not the motor-boat we are looking for," he said.
"Did you happen to notice any of the crew?"
"I did, monsieur," declared one of the men. "There was but one
visible. He wore a blue blouse and a white hat--so. Like these
messieurs here. The light shone from below upon him, understand;
therefore I could discern. She was going towards Duclair."
"A white boat with a deck-house, sir," corroborated one of his
companions, tracing an outline with his finger. "Towards the front
one little mast but no funnel. Monsieur is benighted? Then perhaps he
would care to accompany us to our lodgings for refreshments."
Mr. Armitage demurred, but the students were pressing in their
invitation. Accordingly the whole party went into the village, and
the Sea Scouts found themselves in strange surroundings--a cabaret.
The landlord rose to the occasion. The sight of a couple of grown
Englishmen and four English Sea Scouts provoked no comment. In five
minutes the hungry search-party were sitting down to hot coffee and
biscuits, a long roll, and plenty of fresh Normandy butter.
"That is our affair, monsieur," protested one of the students when
Mr. Armitage offered to pay for the refreshment. "When I was a
_poilu_ of the 141st Regiment we were once on the left of an English
battalion. We were hungry and they were well fed--merely a matter of
commissariat, monsieur--and when they found out we were famished,
half their rations were passed into our trench. Monsieur has served,
of course?"
Greatly refreshed, the Sea Scouts bade their hospitable hosts
farewell, and set out to retrace their way back to Duclair.
"Guess we know the way by this time," remarked Peter. "Three times in
one night is about the limit. Do we turn out at seven to-morrow--or
rather, to-day, sir?"
"We're not on board yet, Peter," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "But I
think I'm safe in saying that we'll keep to our hammocks till noon."
But Mr. Armitage's surmise was out, absolutely out. Grey dawn was
showing in the north-eastern sky when the footsore party arrived on
the quay at Duclair. There in the dim light was the _Olivette_ riding
to the flood-tide. In the stillness of the early morning could be
heard the regular pulsations of the hand-pump, while at intervals one
of her crew--it was not light enough to distinguish who it was--was
toppling pailfuls of water over the side.
"_Olivette_, ahoy!"
This time the hail was answered promptly. Out of the deep, open well
clambered Roche and Flemming slowly and laboriously, for they were
pretty well done up with their night of strenuous toil.
"They seem in no hurry to come for us," observed Warkworth, "after
we've trudged all the blessed night."
"Ahoy, there!" shouted Roche. "Can you find someone to put you off?
We've no dinghy."
"Then they have had a mishap," declared Warkworth. "I believe I can
see the dinghy astern. She's waterlogged."
The difficulty that now arose was how to get on board. There were
dozens of small boats off Duclair, but no one was about.
"We'll take French leave," decided Mr. Armitage. "Since we are in
France, I take it that in the circumstances it is permissible. Find a
boat with detachable bottom-boards. We can paddle her out all right,
and return her when the owner shows up."
This suggestion was acted upon. The "liberty men" crowded into the
borrowed boat and made their way to the _Olivette_ with but little
difficulty, for the flood-tide was easing off considerably.
The Sea Scouts looked grave when the nature of the damage was pointed
out to them. Would it be possible to continue their trip with a boat
in that condition?
"But we've kept her afloat, sir," declared Flemming triumphantly, as
he displayed his blistered hands. "We've done enough pumping to be
excused duty for the rest of the voyage."
Roche, from below, added:
"We're keeping the leak under and no more, sir. If we knock off for
even a minute the water rises over the floor boards."
"Then it's about time we came," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "We're nearly
on the top of high water. Directly it's slack tide, we'll cast off
and warp into that shipbuilder's yard at the head of the quay. Until
the _Olivette_ is high and dry we cannot see the full extent of the
damage."
An hour later the _Olivette_ was safely placed upon the slipway. Two
very serious-looking Frenchmen conferred between themselves, shaking
their heads and gesticulating as they examined the damaged bows. The
stem-piece was fractured in two places, the cracks extending diagonal
fashion. Four of the planks above water-line and two below had been
"started", and from the bows to a distance of ten feet aft the
caulking had been forced from the seams. Had it not been for the big
"pudding" fender, the _Olivette_ might have sunk within a few minutes
of the collision.
Mr. Armitage anxiously awaited their verdict, so did several of the
crew, but Roche, Flemming, and Rayburn were sleeping the sleep of
utter exhaustion.
"It is a bad business," declared one of the Frenchmen. "We have not
the material for executing repairs here. It will be necessary to
proceed up to Rouen, where, at the _chantier_ of Declos et Cie., the
work can be executed in a proper manner. Meanwhile we ourselves will
stop the leak temporarily, so that your little vessel will, with
safety, make the passage to Rouen."
He was as good as his word. Procuring some white lead, canvas, and a
sheet of zinc, he contrived to patch up the gaping planks, so that
they no longer let in the water; for, when the _Olivette_ was
launched again, it was as tight as a boat could be.
When Mr. Armitage asked for the bill, the little Frenchman shrugged
his shoulders.
"I am but a poor man, monsieur," said the latter, "and these are hard
times. Nevertheless, I, who have been a sailor, would not gain my
bread by overcharging foreign sailormen in difficulties. It is but a
small thing that we have done, monsieur, merely a matter of white
lead and canvas. I therefore charge you twenty francs."
The Scoutmaster looked at him in astonishment. Allowing for the
present value of the franc, the cost was a little over ten shillings.
Mentally he contrasted the sum with the extortionate bills for
shipwright's work on the other side of the English Channel, and he no
longer wondered why the British merchant ships cross over to French
ports to be "reconditioned".
He paid up willingly, adding five francs as a _pourboire_, and, with
the wreckage of the dinghy hoisted on deck, the _Olivette_ resumed
her eventful pilgrimage.