CHAPTER XV
Bruin's Vindication
It was not until seven in the evening that the Rosalie rounded the North Foreland. The wind had dropped until it was a flat calm, the tide was foul, and, consequently, progress under one engine was slow. Yet it was not tedious. The white cliffs and the numerous buildings ashore provided the Sea Scouts with a constantly changing variety of scenery, while plentiful shipping added to the picturesqueness of the outlook.
"Oughtn't we to see the coast of France, sir?" asked Woodleigh.
"Hardly," replied the Scoutmaster. "It's a good 35 miles away. Even supposing Cape Gris Nez is 400 feet in height, in clear weather it could be seen only from a distance of 27 miles."
"But I can see land in that direction," persisted the sceptical lad. "A little to the right—south'ard, I mean, of that lightship."
"Yes," agreed Mr. Armitage, "you can see land; so can I. But if it were high water you wouldn't. The land is the Goodwin Sands, so named after Earl Goodwin, and forming part of his estates until the sea swallowed it up."
"Quicksands, aren't they, sir?" asked Hepburn.
"Yes, when they are covered. At low tide they are hard—so hard that people have landed and played cricket on them before now."
He paused, and kept his eyes fixed upon a projecting cliff now almost abeam.
"Too jolly slow, I reckon," he remarked. "We've lost our tide. It's running pretty hot."
"We certainly are not progressing very rapidly," agreed Mr. Jackson.
"Then we'll cut out Dover and put into Ramsgate instead," decided the Scoutmaster.
The tide had been flowing for about an hour when the Rosalie passed between the two pierheads. Even then the masonry towered far above her deck.
"There's a vacant berth, sir!" exclaimed Stratton, pointing to a flight of steps on the inner side of the East Pier.
"Yes," replied Mr. Armitage, "but it won't do for us. I'll tell you why later."
Throttling the only efficient motor to dead slow, the Scoutmaster brought the yacht steadily and carefully until she was almost abeam of a large steam trawler.
"Ahoy!" shouted Mr. Armitage. "Can we make fast alongside of you?"
"Ay, ay," was the reply. "Only we're off out at four to-morrow morn."
"Suit us admirably," said the Scoutmaster. "Stand by with a line fore and aft."
Hepburn with a coiled rope ran for'ard, while Peter Stratton gathered up a line right aft. They knew how to heave a line properly —underhand, not overhand. In a very short space of time the Rosalie was moored alongside the drifter Strathspey, with fenders out and springs made fast for additional security.
"Now, Peter," said Mr. Armitage briskly. "Do you know why we brought up here instead of alongside the stone pier? Let me give you a tip. By so doing, we spare ourselves the worry of having to tend the warps all night. There's a rise and fall of 15 feet here, which is a lot compared with the 6 or 7 at Milford. Those fellows on the drifter will have to shorten their warps as the tide rises and pay out when it falls. We, being alongside the drifter, simply rise and fall with her."
"But she goes out of harbour at four in the morning," remarked Hepburn.
"And we'll have to shift," added Mr. Armitage. "That's what I want to do—to shift on a falling tide on the mud, then by six o'clock we'll be able to clear our propeller. Now, who's for the shore?"
The Sea Scouts, after a "wash and brush up", landed via the deck of the drifter. To get to the top of the jetty was a difficult matter, involving first a jump of about four feet to the lowermost rung of a vertical and slippery ladder.
Bruin made the ascent in a kit-bag, to which was made fast a rope from the edge of the jetty. Considerably scared when released, the pup quickly recovered, and was soon frisking about, barking in high glee.
"Where's the pup to sleep to-night, Peter?" asked Roche, as the crew returned to the Rosalie.
"We'll rig up a bed for him in the fo'c'sle," replied the Patrol-leader. "A box with some paper in it will do."
"Hope he won't start tearing our gear in the middle of the night," remarked Flemming.
"Not he," replied Stratton, eager to champion his pet's good points. "He hasn't attempted to chew anything since he's been on board, except his food. I say, I'm sleepy."
"So am I," declared Roche. "It's the salt air, I suppose. And we've got to turn out at half-past three to-morrow. Out of our snug bunks, lads, into the cold grey dawn. Sounds cheerful, doesn't it?"
"Oh, it's nice to get up in the mornin'," chortled Woodleigh.
"But it's nicer to be in bed."
Ten minutes later silence reigned in the fo'c'sle. Six Sea Scouts and one dog were fast asleep.
In the after-cabin the two Scoutmasters yarned until nearly eleven o'clock, then, after taking a turn on deck to see that everything was all right, they, too, sought well-earned repose.
Between two and three in the morning Mr. Armitage was awakened by Bruin barking furiously. For some moments he listened, thinking that perhaps a nocturnal prowler was trying to get on board.
Then the barking gave place to a series of whines.
"Shut up, and go to sleep," muttered the Scoutmaster drowsily. "Why can't Stratton keep the animal quiet? Surely the fellows in the fo'c'sle can't rest with that noise going on."
For about half a minute there was silence, then the pup began barking again, his sharp voice trailing off into a melancholy howl.
"Dashed if I can stand that," soliloquized Mr. Armitage. "I'll see what's wrong with the little animal. Perhaps he's pining for his former master."
Slipping out of his bunk, the Scoutmaster gained the deck and went for'ard. As he approached the partly-open forehatch he detected the pungent smell of burning rags.
He was on the point of dashing below when he hesitated. It was not for fear of what might happen to him that caused him to pause. It was the thought that if he were overcome by the fumes the lads below might be suffocated, and no one would be a bit the wiser until it was too late.
"Jackson!" he shouted. "Turn out. There's fire aboard."
Mr. Jackson, awake in an instant, came on deck. He had drawn on his sea-boots, and had thoughtfully brought Mr. Armitage's with him.
"Shove these on," he said. "It's no joke standing on burning embers with bare feet."
The two Scoutmasters shouted down the hatchway, but there was no reply. The skipper and two hands of the drifter lying alongside, aroused by the commotion, came up and scrambled on the Rosalie's deck.
"Hang on to the slack!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage, bending a line round his waist and handing the coil to his companion.
Without hesitation he descended the fo'c'sle ladder. The air was thick with smoke, but, by keeping his mouth tightly shut, the Scoutmaster was able to make his way to the nearest bunk.
With a powerful heave he lifted the sleeper and brought him on deck. It was Hepburn, torpid and on the verge of unconsciousness.
Four times Mr. Armitage fought his way below, each time returning with one of his lads, until Mr. Jackson interposed.
"My turn," he said firmly. "You've had enough."
Flemming and Stratton were the last of the crew to be brought on deck. The Oxford Scoutmaster made another descent, to return with Bruin in his arms. Even as he did so the smouldering stuff, fanned by the draught, burst into flames.
The source of the fire was in the engine-room, which communicated with the fo'c'sle. Although the clear flame considerably reduced the volume of smoke, the grave danger became apparent. Within a few feet of the fire was the main fuel-tank, the petrol-tank being on the other side of the motor-room.
"Close the engine-room skylight," exclaimed Mr. Armitage, again girding on the life-line. "I'll get the pyrene going."
He went below. The heat was now oppressive, but the air considerably purer. Fortunately he knew exactly where the fire-extinguishers were stowed. Working rapidly, yet deliberately, he dashed a quantity of pyrene on the seat of the conflagration, and with marvellous swiftness the fire died down.
Battling his way through the now pungent fumes, for the pyrene had destroyed the oxygen in the confined space, the Scoutmaster gained the deck exhausted but triumphant.
"Batten everything down, Jackson," he said breathlessly. "We've done the trick this time."
Meanwhile the six Sea Scouts, stretched out upon the dewy deck, were recovering from the effects of their partial asphyxiation under the somewhat rough but efficacious treatment by the crew of the drifter; and by the time the hatchways and skylights were covered with wet canvas to complete the stifling of the fire, Stratton and his companions were able to walk unaided to the after-cabin.
In the pale dawn Mr. Jackson contemplated Bruin. The pup was drinking water copiously. It seemed impossible that his small body could accommodate such a quantity of fluid.
"Some one called Bruin a Jonah," he remarked. "I fancy the dog has vindicated himself this time."