Home Waters Again
The _Olivette_, although she had a light mast stepped in a tabernacle
for'ard, did not carry sail, relying solely upon her excellent
engine. That the motor had stopped was in no way due to the design.
The best engine on the market will "konk out", if foreign matter
finds its way into the fuel-tank and thence through the feed-pipe to
the carburetter.
Bracing themselves with their backs up against the tool-locker and
their feet hard up against the engine-bearers, Roche and Flemming
toiled desperately to effect a clearance in record time. In their
haste they neglected ordinary precaution, and in a sudden lurch of
the vessel the jet of the carburetter rolled into the bilges.
Mr. Armitage, going below to see how things were progressing, found
the two engineers had taken up several of the floor-boards and were
groping in a foot of oily bilge-water to recover the small but highly
necessary article.
"Sorry, sir, but she lurched," said Eric apologetically. "We'll find
the jet in half a tick."
A cascade of water pouring into the open well warned the Scoutmaster
that prompt measures must be taken quickly if the _Olivette_ were to
escape being swamped as she lay broadside on.
Assisted by Stratton, who volunteered for the hazardous task, Mr.
Armitage and the Patrol Leader crawled along the slippery, heaving
deck and laid out the sea-anchor.
The _Olivette_, drifting rapidly to leeward, snubbed at the rope
attached to the canvas bag. There was a sharp twang. The rope,
apparently sound, had parted like packthread, and the sea-anchor was
irrecoverably lost.
"We'll have to rig up another, Peter," shouted Mr. Armitage. "A stout
spar, a hammock, and a piece of ballast will do the trick. Be sharp.
She won't stand many of these breakers."
A hissing, white-crested wave, pouring completely over the boat,
confirmed the Scoutmaster's words. Below, the Sea Scouts were plying
the semi-rotary pump, but their strenuous efforts failed to cope with
the steady inrush of water. Already there was a foot or more swirling
over the engine-room floor, to the detriment of the task of clearing
the choked carburetter.
As he went below to look out the materials for the improvised
sea-anchor, Mr. Armitage was confronted by old Tom Boldrigg.
"Try ile, sir," suggested the ex-sailor. "Ile's an excellent thing
for quietin' the waves. I'll see to that, sir, if you wish----"
"Carry on, please," replied Mr. Armitage. "We're rigging up a
temporary sea-anchor."
Without another word Boldrigg went about his task. His canvas kit-bag
served the purpose, and he sacrificed it to the common weal, although
it had been his companion for years of service afloat.
Filling the water-tight bag with heavy lubricating oil, Tom secured
the mouth tightly and bent a stout line to it. Then with the
marlinespike of his knife he pricked half a dozen holes in the
canvas.
"Belay, there, lads!" he shouted, handing the rope to some of the Sea
Scouts and heaving the bag over the side to windward.
Although the bag offered very little resistance, the fact that the
_Olivette_ was drifting rapidly to lee'ard enabled the canvas sack to
run out to the full extent of the rope. The oil leaking through the
small holes soon began to take effect. A triangular patch of
comparatively smooth oil-covered water, with its apex at the sack and
its base far to lee'ard of the boat, had the almost instantaneous
result of keeping down the crested waves. The _Olivette_, rolling
still, was no longer in peril, for not a cupful of spray came
inboard.
"How long will that last?" inquired Mr. Armitage.
"Best part of an hour, sir," replied the old man. "'Sides, we can
easily pull the sack aboard again and fill up with ile."
But in less than twenty minutes the engine was running again with her
flywheel well clear of the bilge-water. The Sea Scouts at the pump
had seen to that.
Slowly the _Olivette_ was brought round head to wind. With strenuous
efforts the canvas bag was hauled inboard, and the order given for
full speed ahead.
Buffeted by the waves, with spray flying in solid showers twenty feet
above the wheelhouse, the little ship resumed her dash for home.
Another lift in the rain-laden mirk showed the Isle of Wight now two
points on the port bow. Mr. Armitage hailed the sight with
whole-hearted satisfaction. He was running for the eastern side of
the island in order to get under the lee of the land. Although it was
the longer course, it was far preferable to having the dangerous
stretch of coast between St. Catherine's and The Needles under his
lee.
Nearer and nearer came Old England's shores. Every revolution of the
propeller was decreasing the distance between the _Olivette_ and
sheltered waters.
At eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Armitage went into the
wheel-house, where Woodleigh and Warkworth were doing a double trick
at the helm, for it required more than one strong lad to master the
kicking wheel.
"I'll take on for a spell," he said. The lads regarded their
Scoutmaster curiously. Knowing the previous arrangement that Mr.
Armitage was not to take any active part in the navigation of the
ship, his decision rather puzzled them.
"We're quite all right, sir," protested Woodleigh.
"I'm stiff with doing nothing," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "A tussle with
the wheel will do me good."
The youthful quartermasters stood aside, and the Scoutmaster "took
on". He knew that, before the _Olivette_ gained the sheltered waters
of Spithead, she would have to negotiate the shallow shoals of the
eastern end of the Wight, where an error of judgment would result in
disaster. He knew the approaches to Spithead by heart. There was no
occasion for him to refer to a chart.
An hour later the _Olivette_ passed the huge concrete tower on the
Nab shoal. With a strong tide under her, she simply romped past the
Warner Lightship, and turned in the direction of the yellow-and-black
chequered Horse Sand Fort.
"Up steaming-lights!" ordered the Scoutmaster as the sun sank, a pale
yellow orb in an indigo-coloured sky. "Cooks to the galley! We're in
sheltered water now."
The masthead, port, and starboard lamps were lighted and displayed.
Down below, the Scouts not on duty were preparing for a belated meal.
Spithead and the Solent were familiar sights to them. In the
well-lighted cabin they sat, ate, and yarned, while Mr. Armitage and
Roche stuck to their respective tasks.
Presently Peter came on deck.
"I'll take on now, sir," he reported. "You must be hungry.... Why,
we're past Cowes--we're nearly home!"
"Yes," replied Mr. Armitage. "There's Hurst Light right ahead. Take
her, Peter. I'll follow your excellent advice and get something to
eat. There won't be enough water for us over the bar, so we'll have
to put into Lymington for the night. Besides, we have to obtain our
clearance from the Customs."
Without incident the _Olivette_ made Lymington River and brought up
on a vacant pair of moorings. Her crew slept like logs until they
were nearly thrown from their bunks by the wash of the steamship
plying between Lymington and Yarmouth.
It was blowing very hard from the west'ard--half a gale, in fact.
Had the _Olivette_ been caught out in mid-Channel she would have had
a perilous time. She had won through by a few hours.
"We've had a jolly time," declared Hepburn, surveying the scene, "but
give me this side of the Channel any old day of the week. Hello, it's
close on eight! I'll have to hoist the ensign."
Alan was making his way aft, when Peter stopped him.
"Here, you blighter!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader. "What are you up
to?"
Hepburn explained.
"Not the ensign-staff this time," protested Peter.
"Why not?" demanded the mystified Alan.
"'Cause, you would-be smuggler," replied Stratton, "we've 'come
foreign'. Ensign at the masthead, please. That's the recognized
rule."
The Sea Scouts had not finished breakfast when a boat came alongside
with the representative of His Majesty's Excise and Customs.
The official smiled when he boarded the _Olivette_. He knew her and
her crew well, but duty is duty all the world over.
"Anything to declare?" he inquired. "Tobacco, tea, spirits, eau de
Cologne, lace, and what not?"
"I have spirits," announced the irrepressible Hepburn. "High
spirits--so I'm told."
"They are not liable to duty," rejoined the Exciseman. "Well, I may
as well have a look round."
He was a man who did his work thoroughly. The _Olivette_ was searched
from stem to stern. Every locker was examined, the floor boards
lifted, and even the skirting tapped in case there might be
contraband hidden between the timbers.
"Like a game of hunt the slipper," remarked Roche.
"Aye," replied the man, "and it's my game to hunt slippery ones. I've
caught a few in my time, but they weren't Sea Scouts. I'll give you
your clearance papers, Mr. Armitage."
The interrupted breakfast dispatched, and the plates and cups washed
up and stowed, the _Olivette_ resumed her homeward run.
"I don't know about Alan's high spirits," remarked Peter. "Mine are
rather low. It's my last run in the old _Olivette_, I'm afraid."
"You never know your luck," said Roche. "And you're going abroad
again, you lucky blighter. I hope I'll make as good a Patrol Leader
as you, old man."
"Without a doubt of it, you will," declared Peter earnestly.
"Starboard.... at that.... Stand by for'ard and pick up the buoy....
I say, there's Bruin."
Sure enough Peter's pet and the _Olivette's_ mascot was sitting on
the edge of the quay.
The moment the _Olivette_ picked up her moorings, Bruin took to the
water and swam off. Willing hands hauled the dog on board, where he
inconsiderately showed his delight by shaking his shaggy coat and
liberally besprinkling the crew.
"Just to remind us," observed Peter, wiping the moisture from his
face--"just to remind us that we are in home waters again."
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_By Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_
[Transcriber's Notes:
This book contains a number of misprints.
The following misprints have been corrected:
[exclamed Dick Roche] ->
[exclaimed Dick Roche]
[the Sea Scouts' calcucations] ->
[the Sea Scouts' calculations]
[Warborrow Bay] ->
[Worbarrow Bay]
[a serious of semicircles] ->
[a series of semicircles]
[Cest moi] ->
[C'est moi]
[The gaunt exexpanse] ->
[The gaunt expanse]
[the astern end of] ->
[the eastern end of]
In chapter I there is a [Alan Hepworth] mentioned
(only once). This should probably be [Alan Hepburn],
but it has not been corrected.
In chapter IV [Warborrow Bay] is mentioned (once) but the
probable correct notation, [Worbarrow Bay], isn't
mentioned anywhere in this book. The first notation
doesn't seem to exist, the latter does. This, and the fact
that Mr. Westerman mentions [Lulworth Cove] in connection
with it, which lies very close to [Worbarrow Bay], makes
it all the more likely that [Worbarrow Bay] is the correct
notation.
Two illustrations were missing in the paper version
used for the production of this digitised text. These were:
'THE HIGH-PRESSURE JET CAUGHT THE TENDERFOOT FULL IN
THE FACE' and 'THE DERELICT'. They are marked with
"(missing from book)" in the Illustrations-list and
on the spot where the image should have been.
A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are
not mentioned here.
]