CHAPTER XIX
THE SHIP-KEEPERS
"Would you like a roving commission Peter?" asked Scoutmaster Grant.
"Yes, rather, sir," replied Peter Craddock. "What is it?"
The Otters were off duty. That is to say they had to "remain on the beach" while the Aberstour Sea Scouts yacht went away on a cruise with the Seals. The Puffin was ready to get under way and was only awaiting Mr. Grant's arrival before slipping her moorings.
"A week afloat," replied the Scoutmaster. "I've seen your people and explained matters. You noticed that ketch yacht that came in last evening?"
"The Thetis, sir?"
"Yes, her owner is an old friend of mine, although I didn't recognise him until he made himself known this morning. He is in a bit of a hole and he came to me to know if the Aberstour Sea Scouts could help him out. I said I thought they could."
"We'll have a jolly good shot at it, anyway, sir," exclaimed Peter.
"The difficulty is this," resumed Mr. Grant. "My friend, Mr. Clifton, is cruising. He left Burnham-on-Crouch last Monday with a paid hand as crew. Unfortunately, or perhaps it may turn out fortunately, the crew proved unsatisfactory, so much so that Mr. Clifton discharged him at Otherport and came on to Aberstour single-handed. He tried at both places to obtain another paid hand, but as you know the fishing season is on. When he heard that we ran a fairly smart Troop of Sea Scouts here and that I happened to be Scoutmaster he suggested that I might find a reliable lad to go with him. I hinted that perhaps he might take all the Otter Patrol, but when I told him that there were eight of them he drew the line at that."
"'Then he missed something, sir," declared Craddock.
"But he was quite willing to have two Sea Scouts," continued Mr. Grant. "I thought of Brandon and you, but Frank had promised to help Old Negus on the fishing-smack Frolic, because Jim Negus has broken his arm. So I fixed on Carline and you. Carline's on his way down. Report on board the Thetis before twelve o'clock. Well, I must not keep the Seals waiting. Cheerio, Peter, and good luck."
Punctually at the appointed time, Peter Craddock and George Carline went on board the Thetis, where they introduced themselves to the owner.
Mr. Clifton was a thin, wiry man of about thirty. He was not tall—Peter could give him a couple of inches—but he was full of energy and as active as a kitten. He was deeply sunburnt, while his bony hands were as hard as iron—characteristics of a yachtsman who gets the very best out of the pastime by taking an active part in the management of his own craft.
"I'll like that chap," thought Peter as the owner and skipper of the Thetis shook hands.
"These are the fellows I want," decided Mr. Clifton, as he gave a swift, comprehensive glance at the two alert, well-set up Sea Scouts. "If appearances go for anything they know their job. Thank goodness they're wearing rubber shoes and not hob-nailed boots."
Viewed from the quayside the Thetis looked very little larger than the Puffin. She was ketch-rigged, with roller headsails. All her canvas was tanned, thus doing away with the necessity of sail-covers. What little brasswork she had shone like gold, but as far as possible all the metal work was galvanized iron, Her cockpit was small, but owing to her beam and the narrowness of her raised cabin-top, there was plenty of deck space. She was whaler-sterned—a great advantage in a heavy following sea. On the port side was a pair of davits from which hung a dinghy fitted with an outboard motor. Every rope was neatly coiled, the decks were spotlessly clean, while the white enamel on her sides glistened in the sunlight.
"Come on board," said Mr. Clifton, "and see what you think of my little ship."
The Sea Scouts descended the ladder from the quay, for the tide was almost at the last of the ebb, and gained the deck. Down below the accommodation was much larger than on board the Puffin. There was a spacious saloon, with a motor neatly stowed away under the companion-ladder. Beyond that were two small sleeping cabins separated by an alley-way so narrow that a bulky man would have to turn sideways to make his way along. Next to the cabins was a galley, while right for'ard was a roomy fo'c'sle with a couple of folding cots, above wide locker seats.
Lying at full length on one of the seats was a massive sheepdog, who, finding the visitors were accompanied by his master, lazily wagged his stumpy tail.
"Let me introduce you to Rex," said Mr. Clifton. "Rex, old boy, these aren't ordinary visitors, so don't look as if you were bored stiff. 'Shun, salute!"
With an agility that seemed remarkable from such a shaggy, ponderous animal, the sheepdog sat up and brought his left paw up.
"That's right," exclaimed his master approvingly.
"Can you tell me," he continued, addressing the two Sea Scouts, "why a dog almost invariably 'shakes hands' with his left paw? I don't know."
The skipper glanced at his watch.
"Tide will be making to the west'ard in half an hour," he remarked. "We'll begin to get under way."
Evidently Rex knew what was meant, for he descended from his resting-place and scrambled up the ladder into the cockpit.
"Where are we making for, sir?" enquired Craddock.
"Winkhaven," replied Mr. Clifton. "It's only a twenty mile run. I generally pay a visit there every summer. Then on to Mapplewick—my home. Righto, get to work, lads."
"Are you using the motor, sir?" asked Carline.
"No," was the reply. "I never make use of it except when absolutely necessary. Now, carry on as if I were not here. Let me see how you can manage entirely by yourselves."
It was a big order. The Sea Scouts were absolutely new to the yacht, but it put them on their mettle, which was exactly what Mr. Clifton wanted.
He noted with satisfaction that they rolled the tyers neatly when they removed them, and that they both took care to coil away each halliard after they hoisted the main, mizzen and head sails. Sheltered by the high buildings fronting the quay, the Thetis lay with her canvas rippling in the light air, held only by the fore and aft warps.
"Let go for'ard," shouted Peter to his chum as he himself cast off the stern-rope. "Give her a fend off with the boat-hook."
Slowly the ketch gathered way. Craddock took the helm. A puff filled the towering canvas, and the water rippled under the yacht's forefoot.
"In fenders," ordered Craddock. "We're away."
Then with slacked-off sheets the Thetis turned past the pier-heads and was soon curtseying to the wavelets of the open sea.