CHAPTER VIII
THE DESERTED STEAMER
The fog had lifted sufficiently to enable the crew of the Puffin to command a radius of vision of about a hundred yards—and within that distance was a steamship, bows on.
By the rule of the road at sea it was her place to give way to the little sailing craft, but she made no effort to do so, neither did she indicate by a blast on her syren which course she was about to take.
"Down helm!" shouted Mr. Grant, knowing that a fore-and-aft rigged vessel will answer more readily with lee than with weather helm.
Round swept the Puffin with an ample margin of safety, for during the manoeuvre the Scoutmaster noticed that the tramp was not making way. She was lying almost broadside on to the wind, with her bows high out of the water.
It struck the Sea Scouts as being a strange state of affairs. The steam-vessel's anchors were hove close up to the hawsepipes, showing that she had not brought up, a thin wisp of fleecy white vapour was issuing from her steampipe; yet her bridge appeared to be deserted.
Then, as the yacht passed to wind'ard the Sea Scouts were quick to notice another peculiarity. The tramp's quarter boats had been lowered hurriedly, as the swaying falls with their lower blocks violently crashing against her sides with every roll of the vessel indicated.
No self-respecting skipper would send away a boat without ordering those of the crew who remained on board to secure the davit gear.
"She's been abandoned," declared Phillips.
"And she's sinking," added Talbot.
All eyes on board the Puffin were watching the mysterious tramp as the yacht moved slowly past the former's port side. The vessel's bows were well up and the stern correspondingly depressed.
Already the water, fortunately calm, was level with the scuttles in her quarter; yet she showed no tendency to list.
"No closer," cautioned Mr. Grant to Brandon at the tiller. "Round-to well away from her stern and let's see her name."
The Patrol-leader carried out his instructions, and the crew saw the letters, "Getalong, London," painted on her rounded stern.
"She's not getting along, is she?" whispered Carline.
"Unless it's to the bottom of the sea," added Hopcroft, rather awestruck at the thought that an apparently seaworthy ship was doomed. "Will it be safe to watch her go, sir?"
The Scoutmaster did not reply. He was thinking deeply over a puzzling problem. Here was a steam vessel abandoned. There were no evidences of her having been in collision. Her fires were still in.
Outwardly there was nothing to suggest a disaster, save for the ship being deep down aft. Yet she did not appear to be foundering rapidly. As far as he could judge she had not sunk another six inches during the last five or ten minutes.
A desire to render assistance, coupled with pardonable curiosity, prompted Mr. Grant to board her. On the other hand caution urged him to keep away. He was responsible for the lives of his youthful crew, and on that account he hesitated.
"I wonder if she is abandoned?" remarked Brandon. "Suppose there are people on board—gassed, injured, or something like that? Oughtn't we to make sure, sir?"
"Stow canvas and start up!" ordered Mr. Grant laconically.
Quickly the sails were lowered and temporarily stowed. Craddock hurried below to prepare the motor for starting. In five minutes the Puffin, under power but with the clutch in neutral, was almost motionless within fifty yards of the Getalong's starboard quarter.
"Now, lads!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster earnestly. "Listen. I'm going to board her. Brandon, you will remain here and keep the yacht going, but don't close the ship—keep your distance. At the same time don't lose sight of her.
"Craddock and Phillips, you can come with me in the dinghy, but directly I jump aboard push off and lay-to. If that vessel does make a sudden plunge pull away for all you're worth. I'll have to take my chance of getting clear, but I don't fancy she will. Get the dinghy alongside, Peter."