CHAPTER IV
Peter to the Rescue
"What a brute!" exclaimed Flemming breathlessly.
"A regular mule!" ejaculated Woodleigh, mopping his heated brow.
"I agree," added Roche, desisting from his labours in sheer exhaustion, and, resting his hands on his hips, he surveyed the object of his companions' adverse comments.
For thirty-five minutes they had tussled with the refractory motor, and had not yet succeeded in getting a solitary "kick" out of it. They had cleaned the plugs, "doped" the cylinders, tried her first on the coil and then on magneto, and, finally, on both; and had with their united efforts "swung the engine" until physical force failed them.
"We'll have to tow her down to Teddington," declared Flemming. "There's nothing in the contract against that, is there? And how far is Teddington, by the way?"
"A mere matter of 93 miles," replied Roche jauntily. "That's nothing, of course. Now, then, stand by. Flemming, you tackle the fly-wheel. Mind yourself if she fires; 'if', I said. Woodleigh, my festive, help me with the starting-handle. Now, together."
With a chattering of tappets and the hiss of escaping air the engine was "turned over ", but the hoped-for explosion failed to take place.
"What, not got her going yet!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage, who had just returned from interviewing the representative of the Thames Conservancy in order to obtain a lock pass.
"No, sir; we've tried all sorts of things," replied Roche.
The Scoutmaster put half a dozen questions which were satisfactorily answered.
"Where's your dope can?" he asked.
"Here, sir," replied Woodleigh, handing him a metal tin with a spout. "We've primed all the cylinders half a dozen times at least."
Mr. Armitage poured a few drops of petrol into the palm of his hand.
"That's the trouble," he declared. "Bad petrol; little better than paraffin. Besides there's water in it. The stuff won't evaporate."
He went ashore to see the owner of the yard, to return presently with a can of petrol.
"Try that, Roche," he said. "That ought to do the trick. I'll bear a hand."
With the united efforts of Mr. Armitage and the three Sea Scouts the motor fired. Flemming looked with glee at his companions.
"She's buzzing!" he shouted to make himself heard above the roar of the engine. "What shall we be able to knock out of her, sir? Eighteen knots?"
The Scoutmaster shook his head.
"She's good for nine, I believe," he replied, "but if we were to do that there'd be trouble with the Conservancy Authorities. She's warm enough now, Roche; change over to paraffin."
They kept the engine running for another ten minutes, until the amateur engineers declared themselves satisfied.
"I hope she'll start quicker on Monday," remarked Roche. "I feel as if I had been flogged—stiff all over."
The return of the foraging-party diverted conversation into other channels, and by the time the Olivette was scrubbed down and tidied up, the Sea Scouts were quite ready for tea.
"There's no dinghy," observed Hepburn.
"No; but it doesn't matter," replied Mr. Armitage, "unless, of course, we want to run out a rope. In ordinary circumstances we can bring the boat alongside the bank if we want to land."
"What puzzles me," remarked Stratton, "is how we are going to turn. There's not room enough here. We'd foul one of the college barges."
"That rather troubled me," agreed Mr. Armitage, "until I made inquiries. I find that the large pleasure steamers—like the one ahead of us—go astern until the counter nearly touches that bridge. The current then bears against the bows and turns the boat until she can go ahead. When we've finished tea and washed up, we'll stroll along the tow-path as far as the first lock—Iffley Lock—and see what it looks like. Then we shan't be altogether strangers to it when we bring the Olivette down."
"It's only three o'clock by Greenwich time," observed Warkworth as the Sea Scouts set out on their walk. "Jolly sound scheme, summer time."
"Yes; but we must remember that when we have to consult tide tables," added Mr. Armitage, "otherwise we may find ourselves in a fix."
It was a pleasant ramble along the tow-path. Past the college barges and the confluence of the Cherwell the river was almost deserted, most of the pleasure-seekers afloat having made for the sheltered backwaters to enjoy alfresco tea.
The Sea Scouts were crossing the Long Bridges, rather more than half-way to Iffley, when Peter Stratton noticed a couple of Canadian canoes drifting side by side. In one was a man in boating flannels, holding an animated but one-sided conversation with a lady, in the other.
Even as the Patrol-leader glanced in that direction, he saw to his astonishment the man stand upright in the frail craft and aim a terrific blow with his paddle at the lady.
Attracted by Stratton's exclamation, the other Sea Scouts saw the rest of the affair. The canoe containing the lady toppled completely over, while the perpetrator of the cowardly deed paddled off as hard as he could go, leaving his victim apparently stunned and floating face upwards in the water.
Already Stratton was sprinting along the tow-path as quickly as possible, until he reached a spot abreast of the scene of the outrage. Then, without waiting to kick off his shoes, he waded in and struck out towards the victim.
"Hi! hi! you! Come back out of that!" shouted a bull-throated fellow who had suddenly appeared from behind a clump of bushes.
Stratton paid not the slightest heed to the peremptory mandate, but continued to strike out with powerful breast-strokes towards the object of his attention. Evidently, he decided, the man was an accomplice. His fellow Sea Scouts would deal with him.
At length, after a strenuous effort, for swimming in his clothes was a fatiguing business, Peter reached the motionless woman.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he ejaculated in utter disgust, and turned to swim back to the bank.
Meanwhile, Mr. Armitage and the rest of the Patrol were "having it out" with the bull-throated individual, although at the same time the Scoutmaster kept a watchful eye on the swimmer.
"You've spoilt the reel," declared the man. "Couldn't you tumble to it that we were making cinematograph pictures?"
"How was my Patrol-leader to know?" asked Mr. Armitage; "or any of us for that matter? Surely you could have warned people, and saved the youngster getting wet through just for your amusement."
"My amusement!" echoed the other. "I like that. If we were to start warning people, there'd be a crowd knocking around, and that would spoil the picture. That's why we camouflage the camera."
By this time the "villain" of the film had paddled back, after retrieving the swamped canoe and the dummy, while Stratton had swum ashore, landing a full hundred yards lower down than the spot where he had entered the water, so strong was the current.
The Patrol-leader hurried towards the group, water streaming from his saturated clothes and a broad grin on his face. He was the first to "see the funny side of it ", and his mirth was infectious. The others all joined in.
"After all," declared the manager of the film company, "there's not much harm done. We stopped the reel, so that's not wasted, although if I'd thought about it we might have made something of it. 'Gallant rescue by Sea Scout' stunt. Sorry you got your clothes wet, m' lad, but you look pretty healthy, and a wetting won't hurt if you go back at once and change. Plucky lad that, sir."
"I suppose I ought to thank you for your gallantry in attempting to save me," said a lady's voice, and, turning, Peter saw the living counterpart of the dummy—a tall, graceful girl, who was accompanied by the villain of the piece, and apparently on the best of terms.
"Show's off for to-day," decided the manager. "We'll have to get the lay figure dry and presentable. Now hook it, young man, and change your gear."
The assembly broke up, Peter to run back along the tow-path, the cinema actors to pack up and return to their quarters, while Mr. Armitage and the rest of the Patrol continued their tour of investigation.
When, after having inspected the lock, the Sea Scouts returned to the Olivette, they found Peter in his bunk, while his clothes festooned the open cockpit.
The Patrol-leader came in for a good deal of chaff from his companions, who, in spite of the ludicrous ending of the episode, were proud of their plucky chum.
"By the way," asked Roche. "Why didn't you take a header in true nautical style?"
"Because I wasn't quite such an ass," replied Peter. "The water was shallow—we'll have to keep clear of that side of the river, sir—and, if I had dived, I would have butted my head see? So I just waded in."