Homeward Bound
The crew of the _Olivette_ had a splendid time in Paris, but, since
they met with no adventures and had no scouting, their visit can be
lightly passed over.
They were two days in the French capital, and enjoyed every minute of
the time. Their programme was an ambitious one, carried out at high
pressure. So much so that the Sea Scouts were so excited and tired
upon their return to Tourville-la-Rivière that they were compelled
to "slack" for the whole of the following day.
Then came the long-looked-for tour of the battle-fields.
The day was warm and sultry, but the ride in the powerful car as it
rushed at high speed along the tree-bordered roads was simply
exhilarating.
Old Tom Boldrigg, rigged out in his shore-going kit, was tightly
grasping the bundle done up in the blue handkerchief that he had
brought on board at Keyhaven. Except on the occasion when the kit was
transferred from the _Olivette_ to Tourville-la-Rivière, no one had
set eyes on the bundle until now. It rather puzzled his companions,
and certainly aroused their curiosity; but Tom offered no solution to
the mystery, and the lads refrained from questioning him about it.
At Senlis traces of the Hunnish invaders were apparent, although much
had been done by the industrious inhabitants to rebuild their
shattered dwellings and efface the devastating traces of war. From
that town right on to Château-Thierry the countryside was fast
recovering from the effects of four and a half years' desolation.
Those of the shell-torn trees which had not been uprooted were hiding
their scars under new foliage. The gaunt expanse of crater-pitted
land was covered with ripening corn. Only in places was it possible
to follow the sinuous course of the trenches, while here and there a
system of dug-outs had been left practically intact as a reminder of
the period when that part of France was under the heel of the
Prussian invader.
It was a soul-stirring episode for the Sea Scouts. They were shown
the spot where the British engineers built bridges, under a terrific
fire, to enable the remnants of the Old Contemptibles to cross the
Marne and deal von Kluck's army corps a staggering blow. The line of
advance of General Gallieni's army, rushed up from Paris in a motley
collection of taxi-cabs in the nick of time to stem the Prussian
advance upon the capital, was pointed out to them.
Then to the huge cemetery, where thousands of British lads are laid
to rest, in French soil that is British by sentiment. Here the
_Olivette's_ party was met by a courteous official, who, in answer to
old Boldrigg's inquiry, led the way to a remote portion of the vast
burial-ground.
"Perhaps, Mr. Boldrigg," suggested the Scoutmaster, "you would like
us to leave you for a few minutes."
"No, no, sir," replied the old man. "What I'm going to do isn't
anything to be ashamed of."
He was visibly affected, although he tried to conceal his emotion. He
had completed a pilgrimage that had been the wish of his declining
years, and which might never have been accomplished but for the
assistance of the Sea Scouts.
Standing bareheaded, the lads saw their old friend slowly untie the
blue handkerchief from the bundle. Then he produced a small plant,
its roots carefully protected with damp moss and straw.
"Straight from the garden at home," he said. "An' my boy was that
fond of flowers."
"It will be watered carefully," promised the cemetery official.
"Thank you, sir," replied old Boldrigg gratefully, and, his mission
accomplished, he turned slowly away.
* * * * *
On the ninth day of her compulsory detention at Rouen the _Olivette_
renewed her acquaintance with her natural element.
The work of repair had been performed smartly and well, and the bows
were as sound as ever. She had been given a complete coat of paint
that glistened in the bright sunshine.
"Now, lads," began Mr. Armitage, when the crew had re-embarked and
stowed away their gear, "we have to go into matters pretty closely.
By next Saturday Stratton will have to be home if he's to keep that
appointment with the Steamship Company on Monday week. We have five
clear days to spare. What is to be the programme?"
"Take advantage of the weather while it is fine, sir, and return by
easy stages."
"Quite a good idea," concurred Mr. Armitage. "It often happens that,
when a cruise has to be completed by a certain time, a homeward start
is deferred until the last possible moment. Then the weather may be
boisterous, and the crew are 'in the soup'. Either they have to
overstay their time, or else they've got to make a dash for it, at
great inconvenience and possible risk."
"After all, sir," remarked Peter, "although we haven't carried out
our programme exactly as we planned, it has been a rattling good
holiday."
"And it's not over yet," added Hepburn.
At two in the afternoon the _Olivette_ got under way. On the
coach-roof over the engine-room she carried a new "twelve-foot"
dinghy--a gift from Monsieur Raoul to replace the one they had lost
in collision with the barge.
Their host came on board to wish them _bon voyage_, and, at the Sea
Scouts' invitation, he agreed to go as a passenger as far as
Caudebec.
"I am hoping," he said, "to raise a troop of Sea Scouts at Rouen. The
only difficulty that presents itself is the time it occupies to carry
out the work properly. I quite understand that an inefficient troop,
run by a Scoutmaster who does not, or cannot, devote sufficient time,
is worse than useless. However, I am serious about it, and if the
scheme matures, then some day you might see a French yacht, manned by
French Sea Scouts, sailing into your Keyhaven."
"If they do, sir," said Peter, "they'll be sure to meet with a hearty
welcome, although, I'm afraid, I won't be there to join in," he added
regretfully.
With the strong current, the _Olivette_ made a quick run down to
Caudebec, anchoring under the lee of the Dos d'Ane before sunset. It
was now close upon the neap tides, and the bore was not so much in
evidence.
"We've been done out of a little excitement," was Hepburn's comment
after the _Olivette_ had encountered the comparatively mild tidal
wave.
"You speak for yourself, old thing," rejoined Roche. "I've still a
lump on my forehead where I bashed my head against the deck-beam as
the old boat stood on her head. In my opinion, bores are a nuisance,
whether they are of the human variety or otherwise."
Monsieur Raoul de la Voie took his departure at Caudebec. He bade the
Sea Scouts farewell and _bon voyage_, and the lads heartily thanked
him for his kindness and hospitality.
"He's a proper sport," commented Roche.
"There was a time when I thought all Frenchmen wore stove-pipe hats,
pointed moustachios, and tufts of hair on their chins. Going abroad
widens one's outlook," he added sapiently.
Two days were spent at Caudebec. There was much to be done to prepare
the _Olivette_ for her homeward voyage. Her fuel-tanks had to be
replenished, her oil-supply renewed, provisions and fresh water to be
shipped on board, and various formalities to be carried out with the
port authorities at Havre.
"We start to-morrow, lads," announced Mr. Armitage. "The fine weather
is holding, but there are indications of a break-up in the course of
the next forty-eight hours. We can't afford to be held up here."
"At what hour, sir?" asked Peter.
"Seven in the morning at high-water," replied the Scoutmaster. "With
luck, we ought to be inside the Wight before sunset."
Promptly to the minute on the following morning the anchor was
weighed, and the motor began its rhythmic purr. To save time, the
Tancarville Canal route was to be cut out in favour of the passage of
the estuary of the Seine, and, in accordance with the port
regulations, a pilot had to be employed.
The pilot came on board just before seven o'clock. He was a short,
bow-legged, elderly man, differing very little in appearance from the
seafaring fraternity on the other side of the Channel, except that
his knowledge of English was rather meagre.
Peter Stratton was at the helm, the pilot standing beside him.
All went well for the first ten minutes or so, then a brigantine in
tow of a tug appeared in sight round a bend abreast of the village of
Villequier.
"_Tribord tout!_" ordered the pilot.
Peter, considerably astonished to receive the order, for he was aware
that "tribord" was the equivalent for "starboard", promptly
starboarded his helm.
The little Frenchman danced with excitement.
"_Tribord tout!_" he reiterated.
The Patrol Leader gave the boat still more starboard helm. At that
moment the tug blew a single blast with her steam whistle.
The pilot, abandoning his post, ran on deck gesticulating frantically
at the tug. Peter, left to his own devices, and knowing that if he
attempted to port helm now there would almost inevitably be a
disastrous collision, kept her helm hard over until the _Olivette_
had starboarded sixteen points and her bows were pointing in exactly
the opposite direction to her former course.
Then he ordered the motor to stop, and awaited the pilot's return.
"P'raps he's got a pal on the tug and wants a yarn," he soliloquized.
"Wonder what he is doing now?"
As a matter of fact the Frenchman, with tears in his eyes, was
complaining to Mr. Armitage of the wilful disobedience of the
youthful helmsman.
"I tell him keep to dis side," he declared, "and he vit intent
deliberate 'e put ze ship across de bow of ze tug so. I protest,
Monsieur; I chuck in ze 'and so."
The pilot folded his arms, stood with his feet well apart, and gazed
stolidly ahead. It was his pose of lofty detachment.
Mr. Armitage made his way to the wheelhouse, where Peter, unconscious
of the enormity of his offence, was carrying on quite unconcernedly.
Fortunately the _Olivette_ was still a long way from the dangerous
sandbank-encumbered estuary, and the navigation presented no
difficulty.
"What's the row you've had with the pilot, Peter?" inquired Mr.
Armitage.
"Row, sir? I didn't have a row. He told me to starboard. I expected
him to tell me to port helm, but I carried out his orders. Then he
began roaring like a lunatic. If I had hesitated and ported helm,
there would have been a most awful smash."
"There has been a mistake," admitted the Scoutmaster, "and I'm to
blame as much as anyone. I ought to have warned you '_tribord_' is
the French for 'starboard' and '_bâbord_' for port, but that's not
enough. When a Frenchman orders '_tribord_' he means that the boat's
bows are to go to starboard and not the helm. He ought to have made
allowances, for it's pretty certain that this is not the first
British vessel he's piloted. I'll get Hepburn to take the wheel for a
spell, and we'll explain to our worthy pilot."
The Frenchman was easily mollified after explanations had been given.
With a bow he declared that "ze affaire" was over and forgotten, but
during the rest of the voyage down the estuary he took good care to
say, "Port ze helm dis vay," or, "Turn ze ship's 'ead to ze left."
In four hours, keeping at full speed, and with a tide under her, the
_Olivette_ was clear of the estuary and pitching to the short, sharp
seas off the Grand Rade of Havre. Here the pilot was dropped, a boat
from the pilot cutter coming alongside to take him off.
"Do not make ze tarry, monsieur," he said to Mr. Armitage. "Ze
weather it looks not nice. By dark, it blow ver' 'ard."
"Let's hope he's wrong for once," thought the Scoutmaster. "All the
same, the glass is falling, so the sooner we get into sheltered water
the better."
He glanced to wind'ard. The sky was of a deep blue, without a cloud
being visible. The breeze blew strongly from the south'ard. It was a
favourable wind for Old England's shores.
He waved his hand in acknowledgment of the pilot's warning.
"Let her rip, Flemming," he ordered. "Full speed ahead."
It was a far different passage from the _Olivette's_ previous
crossing. Even when clear of the land, the waves were short and steep
as the weather-going tide met the breeze obliquely. In spite of the
extra ballast, the boat rolled and pitched until her foredeck was
swept by the white-crested waves, and water poured at intervals over
her quarter. But, protected by the high coaming surrounding the well,
the crew kept fairly comfortable. They had to wear oilskins to keep
themselves dry, for the spindrift was flying inboard. Every movable
article, both on deck and below, had to be lashed down, and it was
soon apparent that, until they were in smoother water, the Sea Scouts
would have to go without hot meals.
About four o'clock the wind dropped considerably. The _Olivette_ was
now out of sight of land, and, with the exception of an old
wind-jammer running full-and-by up-Channel, not another vessel was in
sight.
"Make some tea while you have a chance, Woodleigh," suggested Mr.
Armitage. "This lull is only temporary, I fancy."
To the west'ard inky-coloured clouds were appearing above the
horizon. The southerly breeze was on the point of veering to the
west'ard or sou'west'ard, and when it came it would, in all
probability, come with considerable force.
"We may get in before it comes on hard," soliloquized the
Scoutmaster. "It's no joke being caught out; but we'll have to make
the best of it."
After a hastily snatched meal, all the crew, except Roche and
Hepburn, turned in to get a few minutes' sleep, Mr. Armitage giving
strict injunctions to report to him the moment the wind piped up
again.
"And none of your Brightlingsea stunts, Alan," he added, referring to
an occasion when Hepburn took the _Olivette_ into port on his own
initiative. "That time you managed splendidly, but another attempt
mightn't end quite so well. If the breeze doesn't pipe up soon, turn
me out directly you sight land. You ought to see the high ground
behind Ventnor on your port bow."
The "watch below" had quite two hours' rest before Alan noticed a
squall bearing down. At the same time he fancied that he saw land
ahead in the clearing of the mirk that preceded the rain.
"All hands on deck," he shouted to his companions in the forepeak.
"One of you run aft and warn Mr. Armitage."
The Scoutmaster did not wait to be called. Hearing the commotion
for'ard, he left his cabin and glanced to wind'ard.
"We're in for it," he mused.
Just then, Flemming, who was due to relieve Roche in the motor-room,
came up with the disconcerting news that there was a choke in the
carburetter, and could they stop the engine while he and Roche
remedied the defect?
"Right-o," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Carry on and get it done as sharp as
you can. How long will it take, do you think?"
"'Bout ten minutes, sir," replied the lad.
Five minutes later the squall struck the _Olivette_ heavily. Being
without way, and unable to answer to her helm, the staunch little
craft lay broadside on in the trough of the rapidly rising sea.