CHAPTER V
Down Stream
The Milford Sea Scouts had a most pleasant afternoon's ramble round Oxford, with Mr. Jackson's scouts. They saw as much as anyone could possibly expect to see and appreciate in so short a space of time.
"I can't help envying you, Armitage," said the Oxford Scoutmaster towards the end of the afternoon. "There's nothing like a sea life. Knocking about on a river is very good sport, but, when all's said and done, it doesn't come up to a sea voyage. You don't get the lift of the ocean and the stinging salt breezes and all that sort of thing here."
"You've been afloat a good deal, I take it?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"Yes—before the war," replied Mr. Jackson. He offered no further information, but it was a case of being hard hit. Previous to "joining up" he had a small yacht on the Crouch. This he sold for a mere song before he donned khaki, only to find, on being demobilized four years later, that the price of all types of craft had risen so enormously that he was compelled to abandon any idea of purchasing another yacht.
"Do you know the East Coast?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"Fairly well," admitted the Scoutmaster modestly. "Knocked about there in and out of most of the creeks and harbours for the best part of ten years."
"Like to have a trip in the Rosalie?" asked Mr. Armitage. "If so, I think it can be arranged."
"Like a shot," said the other eagerly. "I haven't any fixed plans for the holidays."
"Then meet me at Yarmouth next Saturday," continued the Milford Scoutmaster. "Bring a couple of your boys if they care to come. 'Fraid there's not sufficient accommodation for more. No; nothing to thank me for. You'll have to do your whack same as the rest of us, and we'll be glad of your help."
Early on Monday morning the landing-stage, alongside which the Olivette was lying, was invaded with throngs of people anxious to get on the river. Every available boat and punt was let, steamers and motor-launches were packed, while crowds awaited their turn. It was an animated scene, and the Sea Scouts, having washed decks and snugged down, took a lively interest in the proceedings; while they were objects of curiosity on the part of the waiting holiday-makers.
For the best part of an hour Mr. Armitage and the boys were answering questions as to what the Olivette was, where she was bound for, and a hundred inquiries as to the duties performed by Sea Scouts.
Presently a short, stout, red-faced man, who looked like a farmer, made his way to the front rank of the waiting throng and took a studied interest in the boat.
"Good morning," he exclaimed at length.
"Good morning," replied Mr. Armitage.
"Any chance of a trip in this craft?" asked the stranger.
The Scoutmaster shook his head.
"Sorry," he replied. "This is a private boat."
"Then it's no use?"
"Not the slightest, I regret to say."
The stranger stepped back, treading heavily on the toe of a man behind him.
"My mistake, sir; I apologize," he exclaimed, then he broke into a roar of laughter.
"That's great!" he continued. "Great, absolutely! The owner refused admittance. Something to tell my friends at the club. Murgatroyd warned off the course, eh?"
Then, with considerable agility, he gained the Olivette's deck and extended a hand to the astonished Armitage.
"Course you weren't to know," said Mr. Murgatroyd, waving aside the proffered apology. "I don't mind, so what's the trouble? Nothing. Now then, can we be starting? I mean us all to have a jolly good time. Nothing like being merry and bright, and dash the expense. Smart youngsters those, Mr. Armitage. Makes me regret my lost youth."
Still talking vivaciously, Mr. Murgatroyd directed the shipment of a portmanteau, a suit-case, and a big hamper of provisions.
"I know precious little about a boat, Mr. Armitage," he declared. "It's up to you and your crew to teach me as much as I can grasp. You think it strange that I've bought a boat at my time of life, eh? It's never too late to learn, says the proverb, and I'm trying to prove that the old tag is right. Matter of fact," he added proudly, "I've had my licence endorsed three times; that's put a stopper on my driving a car. Now, carry on, Mr. Armitage. You're skipper, and I'm only a passenger. If I get in your way, push me out of it. If I should show signs of mutinous conduct, maroon me on an island—the Karsino, for preference, 'cause I've been there before."
Thereat, Mr. Murgatroyd went below to watch the operation of "starting up", while the Scoutmaster, having satisfied himself that the warps were in readiness and that the deck-hands knew what was required of them, made his way to the wheel-house.
Waiting until the engine was well warmed up, the Scoutmaster beckoned to Stratton.
"Take the wheel," he said as the Patrol-leader clambered upon the steering-platform. "Act entirely on your own. I'll stand by in case of accidents."
Feeling considerably "bucked" at being put in charge of the wheel, and at the same time conscious of a slight sensation of nervousness, Stratton turned the wheel hard over, first to port, and then to starboard, bringing the helm back to 'midships. Having ascertained the number of turns, he yelled:
"Let go, for'ard and aft. Touch astern."
Aided by the current, the Olivette did not take long to go stern foremost the length of the stage, but somewhat to Stratton's anxiety she did not answer readily to her helm. Very slowly she fell away to port, her bows just missing a barge moored on the left bank of the river, until her counter was within ten yards of the right bank.
"Stop. Easy ahead... Stop... Touch astern.... Stop!"
Roche, at the reversing lever, obeyed promptly. Unable to see what was going on outside, he rather wondered at the string of orders. It was a novel experience, acting as engineer, and relying solely upon the words of command of the coxswain.
With her after part in still water and the current boring against her bows, the Olivette swung round rapidly until her stem pointed obliquely down stream. Stratton had succeeded in turning her. With a feeling of elation he gave the order, "Easy ahead."
"Well done, Stratton!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage with whole-hearted earnestness. Then after a minute or so he added: "We'll have to go slower than that; look at the wash."
Peter glanced astern. The powerfully-engined craft, although well throttled down, was leaving a turmoil of waves in her wake. Small boats and canoes were bobbing in the swell, which broke heavily against the bank on one side, and the college barges on the other.
"She's going as slow as possible," yelled Roche in reply to the request for less speed. "If I throttle her any more she'll stop."
Peter looked inquiringly at the Scoutmaster.
"Cut out a couple of cylinders," suggested Mr. Armitage.
This was done, but the boat trembled excessively with the jerky motion imparted by two cylinders only. At the same time the speed was visibly reduced.
Just then Mr. Murgatroyd, who was sitting on the roof of the deck-house determined to enjoy himself, inquired: "Won't she go any faster?"
"We can't do it without causing damage to other craft," replied Mr. Armitage.
"Then I'm hanged if I keep the boat on the Thames, if I can't get more out of her than that," was the rejoinder. "Look at that launch, she's going twice as fast as we are."
By the time Mr. Armitage had endeavoured to explain that the difference in displacement and shape of the submerged surfaces had everything to do with speed, the Olivette was approaching Iffley Lock.
"I'll take her," said the Scoutmaster. "Watch, and then you can carry on through the next lock. There are thirty-two between here and Teddington, I believe, so by the time we've tackled a quarter of them we ought to be experts."
Even Mr. Armitage "had the wind up" as the Olivette approached the narrow lock, the upper gates of which were open. The current was running strongly over a weir to the left of the lock, the river being 2 feet above the normal summer level.
Allowing, as he thought, plenty of margin to counteract the rush of water over the weir, he gave the order for the crew to stand by with the fore and aft warps.
Slowly the Olivette approached the lock, until Mr. Armitage saw that she was being swept out of her course. Too late he put the helm to starboard. The boat's stern swung to port and her quarter crashed into a massive post with a shock that nearly threw the owner overboard.
The post saved her. A touch ahead with the propeller and the Olivette glided into the lock.
"That's how not to do it," commented the Scoutmaster. "Better luck next time!"
Released from the lock, the Olivette resumed her course past the leafy woods of Nuneham. Sandford Lock was negotiated without incident, and then Abingdon town hove in sight.
"Abingdon Bridge is, I believe, the lowest we have to encounter," observed Mr. Armitage, as the Olivette passed out of the lock that takes its name from the old-world town. "Stand by the reversing-lever, Roche. There's a tricky piece of work ahead."
It was. Almost before the Scouts were aware of it, the low arch of the bridge appeared to be advancing to meet them. It was narrow, too, and the turgid waters foamed noisily between the buttresses.
"By Jove! Will it clear us?" thought Mr. Armitage.
Mr. Murgatroyd and the Sea Scouts on deck saw the danger, and precipitately threw themselves flat on deck. There was no going back now. The Olivette, in the grip of a current running as fast as, or faster than, she could go astern—even if she answered readily to her helm—was bearing down at a rate of nine knots "over the ground".
Viewed from the wheel-house it seemed impossible that the boat could escape destruction. The Scoutmaster had a brief and vivid vision of the frail wheel-house shattering itself against the crown of the masonry, yet not for an instant did he lose control of the wheel.
Under it! By inches the Olivette scraped through. Hepburn afterwards declared that there wasn't the space of a hand's breadth between the stonework and the roof of the wheel-house.
"Smart bit of work, Mr. Armitage," called out the owner. "We're having some excitement!"
"No more of that sort, I hope," said the Scoutmaster frankly. "I thought that navigating the Thames was child's play, but give me the open sea any day."
"Take on, Warkworth," ordered Mr. Armitage. "I'm going below for a few minutes. You've two miles before we come to the next lock. Send word if you want me before."
Telling Flemming to relieve Roche in the engine-room, and asking the Patrol-leader to give an eye to the coxswain, Mr Armitage went to his cabin to change a roll of films. The camera was a brand new one, and the operation required careful handling. Just as he had wound the first of the new films into position he heard Warkworth shout.
"Stop. Easy astern!"
Thinking that perhaps it was an inexperienced oarsman who had got in the way of the Olivette, the Scoutmaster hurried to the wheel-house.
"What's wrong, Warkworth?"
"I don't know, sir," replied the perplexed youth. "The river seems to stop here. There's no lock and no way out."
Too late the Scoutmaster remembered that there was such a thing as Culham Cut, one of those artificial waterways that avoid a long detour of the tortuous stream. This one had been missed, and the Olivette's progress was stopped by the weir of Sutton Courtney.
By dint of much manoeuvring the boat was turned, and finally got on her proper course through the Cut—by a channel so narrow and with such high, steep banks that, from the wheel-house, it seemed as if the Olivette's sides were scraping the embankments.
Beyond Day's Lock two delays occurred. Once the boat had to be stopped in order to retrieve Mr. Murgatroyd's hat, which was deftly recovered by Hepburn by means of a boat-hook. The second stop involved a complicated manoeuvre, because an inexperienced punter, underrating the tenacious quality of the mud on the bottom of the river, was left hanging on to the gradually-tilting pole, while his punt glided sweetly down stream. By the time the Olivette, which displayed her unhandiness more than ever when going astern, had rescued the dripping and thoroughly-scared man and taken the punt in tow, thirty-five minutes had elapsed.
"Far enough for to-day, I think," suggested Mr. Murgatroyd, after the Olivette had successfully passed through a fleet of "small fry"—canoes, skiffs, and punts—in the neighbourhood of Wallingford. "Of course, if you are keen on going farther, Mr. Armitage, do so. You're skipper. But there is a decent little hotel in Wallingford which I have been to before."
"Right-o; we'll bring up here," agreed the Scoutmaster. "Twenty-one miles in eight hours isn't exactly exceeding the speed limit."
"It's been enjoyable," continued the owner of the Olivette, as she was berthed alongside a stage. As he prepared to step ashore he added: "And, by the by, there's a sort of tuck-box for the crew. They've got to get outside the contents of that hamper before we reach Teddington."