{Illustration: cover}
THE BOYS OF THE "PUFFIN"
BRITISH BOYS' LIBRARY
_Titles uniform with this volume_
THE WAY OF THE WEASEL
(A Public School Story)
_John Mowbray_
GENERAL JOHN
_Evelyn Everett-Green_
DICK'S DARING _A. H. Biggs_
SLEEPY SAUNDERS _Rowland Walker_
LOYALTY BOB _Walter Copeland_
THE HON. MASTER JINX
_Rowland Walker_
BROWN A1 _E. M. Stooke_
THE YELLOW PUP
_Evelyn Everett-Green_
THE MYSTERY OF STOCKMERE SCHOOL
_Percy F. Westerman_
THE LITTLE DUKE
_Charlotte M. Yonge_
----
S. W. PARTRIDGE & Co.,
4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1
{illustration: "'DON'T LET IT BUMP ALONGSIDE, WHATEVER YOU DO!'"
[_P_. 36}
THE
BOYS OF THE "PUFFIN"
A SEA SCOUT YARN
By
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "The Mystery of Stockmere School,"
"Sinclair's Luck," etc.
_Illustrated by_
G. W. GOSS
{illustration: logo}
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1.
MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE DEPUTY SCOUTMASTER . . . . . . . . . . . 7
II. A LONG PASSAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
III. "LET ME OUT, OR----" . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
IV. THE MIS-SPELT WORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
V. THE PERIL IN THE FAIRWAY . . . . . . . . . . 32
VI. TO SCUTTLE HIS SHIP . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
VII. THROUGH THE FOG BANK . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
VIII. THE DESERTED STEAMER . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
IX. TOWED INTO PORT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
X. A SURPRISE--AND AN ARREST . . . . . . . . . 63
XI. THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR . . . . . . . . . . . 66
XII. ADRIFT--THEN AGROUND . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
XIII. A SUCCESSFUL RUSE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
XIV. ON THE TRACK OF THE "PUFFIN" . . . . . . . . 87
XV. THE FISHING EXPEDITION . . . . . . . . . . . 93
XVI. CATCHING A TARTAR . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
XVII. THE ATTACK ON THE "FROLIC" . . . . . . . . 106
XVIII. CLEARING UP THE MYSTERY . . . . . . . . . 112
XIX. THE SHIP-KEEPERS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
XX. THE CURMUDGEON . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
XXI. THE MISSING BIRDS . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
XXII. FIRE! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
XXIII. CAUGHT BY THE SQUALL . . . . . . . . . . . 141
XXIV. OVERBOARD! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149
XXV. SAFE AND SOUND . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"DON'T LET IT BUMP ALONGSIDE WHATEVER YOU DO!"
_Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
THE SQUAT LITTLE TUG LOOMED UP, HER CREW
AUGMENTED BY SIXTEEN WILDLY EXCITED SEA
SCOUTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
A WELL-DIRECTED THRUST ENABLED BRANDON TO
REDUCE THE NUMBER BY ONE . . . . . . . . . . . 108
THE FIERCELY FLOGGING MAINSAIL THREATENED TO
SWEEP THE SEA SCOUT FROM HIS PRECARIOUS
POSITION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
The Boys of the "Puffin"
CHAPTER I
THE DEPUTY SCOUTMASTER
"ANY luck?" Sea Scout Peter Craddock had heard that question many
times before. It seemed to be a stock phrase with the numerous
trippers at Aberstour whenever they attempted to open a conversation
with any of the amateur fishermen on the pier-head.
Peter finished the task on which he was engaged--placing a plump and
slippery ragworm upon a sharp, brand-new hook--before replying.
Turning his head, he saw that his questioner was a young, rather
prepossessing man, somewhere in the vicinity of twenty-five years of
age.
In one hand he held a folding kodak, in the other a towel and
bathing costume.
"Not yet," replied the Sea Scout. "I'm a bit too early. Tide's still
ebbing, though it's close on low water."
"Rummy little beasts," commented the stranger, as he looked at the
wriggling worms "I shouldn't care to handle them."
"You'd soon get used to that," declared Peter, "'specially if they
were put in sand--takes the slimy sensation off, you know."
"How do you get them?--buy them from the boatmen?"
"Some people do," observed the Sea Scout. "We don't. We dig for them
when the tide's out."
"Really?" rejoined the stranger; then, dropping the subject, he
pointed to a topsail schooner brought up outside the bar.
"What's she flying that flag for?" he asked.
"That's her ensign."
"I thought an ensign was always flown from the back end of a ship."
"The stern," corrected Peter. "Oh, no, not always. She's flying her
ensign at the foremast head. Shows she's come foreign."
"Come foreign," repeated the other. "What does that mean?"
"She's just arrived from a foreign part," explained the Sea Scout
with that touch of superiority in his tone which a seaman frequently
adopts when enlightening mere landlubbers. "She's bound to keep that
ensign flying until the Customs people give her clearance.
They're putting off to her now."
A dinghy, manned by a couple of bronzed individuals in pilot jackets
and peaked caps swept past the pierhead. The one in the stern sheets
gave a friendly salutation to the Sea Scout. Peter waved back a
reply.
"Friends of yours, eh?" continued the persistent questioner.
"Sort of," admitted Craddock. "Hello! My bait's gone again. The
crabs are busy. I don't fish off the pierhead as a rule, but some of
our fellows have gone away in the dinghy. That's our yacht over
there."
He pointed to a cutter of about eight tons sitting with only a
slight list on the mud.
"How jolly!" exclaimed the stranger. "Do you Scouts sail her
yourselves?"
Peter shook his head.
"No, that's the worst of it," he replied. "We aren't allowed to
without our Scoutmaster on board. We can use the dinghy, though."
"Do the Customs people ever search your yacht?" was the next
question.
"No, why should they?" replied Peter. "We aren't smugglers, and
we've never taken her across Channel. We may some day. 'Sides, the
Customs officers know all about us."
"'Fraid I'm not a good sailor," admitted the stranger. "I'd be
seasick. Well, I must be moving. Hope you'll have good luck when the
tide makes. Good morning."
"Good morning," replied Craddock.
The young man took half a dozen steps. Then he turned abruptly and
came back.
"By the bye," he said, "as you are a native of this place perhaps
you can give me the address of a Mr. Grant--Theodore Grant."
"I should just think I could!" exclaimed Peter. "He's our
Scoutmaster. He lives at Seamore Villa, just beyond the Martello
Tower. But it's no use your calling. He won't be in."
"Won't be in?--that's a pity."
"'Cause he's away for three or four days," explained the Sea Scout.
"And if he weren't, you wouldn't find him at home, 'cause he'd be
out sailing with us," he added.
"Grant's away for a few days, you say? Do you happen to know where
he's staying?"
"At Sablesham."
"Why, that's only twenty miles away," rejoined the stranger, his
face brightening. "I can easily slip over there on my motorbike.
Whereabouts in Sablesham is he staying, do you know?"
Yes, Peter did know, and forthwith gave the required information.
Then, with another "Good morning!" the bright young man walked
briskly off and disappeared from view round the corner of the High
Street.
At eight o'clock on the following morning the Scouts assembled at
the Sea Scouts Hall, as their clubroom was called.
The daily routine consisted of hoisting the ensign, cleaning out the
hall, scrubbing and smartening up the dinghy and her gear, and
finally airing sails and "turning over" the motor of the _Puffin_,
the Aberstour Sea Scouts' eight-ton auxiliary cutter.
Then, in ordinary circumstances, the patrol on duty went away on a
short cruise, while the rest of the Sea Scouts amused themselves as
best they could, since it was out of the question to stow
twenty-four growing lads on an eight-tonner except in relays.
But this was no ordinary circumstance. The Scoutmaster, Mr. Grant,
had been called away on urgent business, and without him, or another
responsible "grown-up," the Sea Scouts were not allowed to put to
sea.
It was disappointing, but being Scouts they kept smiling.
"I had a letter from Mr. Grant this morning," announced Frank
Brandon, Patrol-leader of the Otters, a hefty, sun-burned youth of
eighteen, who in addition to being an excellent swimmer was a boxer
of no mean prowess. "He says he cannot possibly get back before next
Tuesday."
This time the Otters did not smile. Instead of being deprived of
their trip in the _Puffin_ until Friday, it meant that their turn
would not come round again before half of the next week had passed.
"But," continued the Patrol-leader, "that's only half the news.
Cheer up!"
"Well, what is it?" inquired Phillips.
Brandon tapped the pocket of his jersey.
"It'll keep," he replied tantalisingly. "Now then, boys, look alive
and get the job done! We want the place to look extra smart to-day."
This was a hint that there was something in the wind. For the next
half-hour the Sea Scouts--Patrol-leader included--worked like
galley-slaves.
When they had done, Brandon pinned the Scoutmaster's letter to the
notice-board. The Sea Scouts crowded round eagerly.
This is what they read:--
The Croft,
Sablesham,
17th December.
DEAR LADS,
I am sorry, but all efforts on my part to get back on Friday have
been futile. The business upon which I am engaged cannot be settled
before Tuesday at the earliest.
However, as I know you want to get afloat, a friend of mine, Mr.
George Gregory, has kindly promised to take my place. He is
Scoutmaster of the 2nd Sablesham Troop. I hope you'll be able to
show him that the Aberstour Sea Scouts are at least as smart as his.
Mr. Gregory is arriving by the 1.15 train. He tells me that he will
be quite content with the accomodation on board the _Puffin_, and
will sleep on board while he is at Aberstour.
Cheerio,
Yours Sea Scoutingly,
THEO. GRANT.
"Wonder what he'll be like?" asked Hopcroft.
"Not a patch on our Scoutmaster," declared Carline loyally. "But
we'll do all we can to help him."
"I shouldn't be surprised----" began Peter Craddock.
"Surprised what?" inquired Patrol-leader Brandon.
"Nothing much, Frank," replied Peter. "A fellow spoke to me on the
pier yesterday. He wanted to see Mr. Grant. Perhaps he was Mr.
Gregory."
"If so, you'll soon be able to make sure," rejoined the
Patrol-leader. "Now, let's get on board and get the _Puffin_ ready."
This took some time. The yacht had to be provisioned for the day's
cruise, or rather with enough water and food for three days, this
being one of Mr. Grant's precautions in the event of the yacht
encountering bad weather that prevented her from returning to her
home port. The petrol tank had to be filled, running gear
overhauled, and sails hoisted. By this time it was nearly twelve
o'clock.