CHAPTER V
THE ARRIVAL
It was four o'clock in the afternoon when the Scouts detrained at Wadebridge, the termination of their railway journey. Seven miles of hilly country separated them from the village of Polkerwyck. The afternoon was hot and sultry, there was no wind to cool the heated atmosphere; but braced up by the attractiveness of their novel surroundings the lads thought lightly of their march.
By some unexplained means the news of their impending arrival forestalled them, and at the station two Cornish troops, with drum and fife bands, awaited them. With typical kind-heartedness their west country brother-Scouts regaled their London visitors with tea, Cornish cream, pasties and other delicacies for which the Duchy is noted, while to still further perform their good turns they insisted upon dragging the camping party's trek-cart for nearly five miles.
It was a delicious march. Everything seemed strange to the visiting Scouts, and novelty was one of the chief delights of the holiday. The wild, moorland country, the quaint stone cottages, stone walls in place of hedges, the broad yet attractive dialect of the villagers, and last but not least their wholehearted hospitality, filled the lads with unbounded delight, while Mr Trematon, being in his native county, was as enthusiastic and light-hearted as his youthful companions.
The shadows were lengthening as the "Otters" and the "Wolves" breasted the last hill. The lads had relapsed into comparative silence. The strangeness of their surroundings so filled them with keen joy that they could only march in subdued quietness and feast their eyes on the natural beauties of the country.
Suddenly Fred Simpson, who headed the march, stopped, and, raising his stetson on the end of his staff, gave a mighty shout. His example was followed by the others as they gained the summit of the hilly road. Almost beneath his feet, and extending as far as the eye could see, was the sea, bathed in all the reflected glory of the setting sun. Not one of the Scouts had previously seen the sun set in the sea: their knowledge of the seaside was confined to the Kentish and Essex coast towns where the orb of day appears to sink to rest behind the inland hills.
On either hand dark red cliffs cut the skyline, forming the extremities of Polkerwyck Bay. The headlands, fantastic in shape, reared themselves boldly to a height of nearly three hundred feet. On the easternmost point, appropriately named Beware Head, stood a tall granite lighthouse, the stonework painted in red and black bands. On the western headland—Refuge Point—stood the white-washed houses of the coastguard station. Between the headlands was Polkerwyck Bay, the village giving it its name nestling on either side of a small tidal estuary, and enclosed by a gorge so narrow and so deep that the Scouts imagined that they could throw a pebble from the road upon the stone roofs of the picturesque cottages.
Of the estuary, and separated from the land by a stretch of deep blue water, lay what appeared to be a small rock.
"Where's Seal Island, sir?" asked Atherton, who was the first to find his tongue.
"There," replied the Scoutmaster, pointing to the rock.
"Why, it's ever so small," cried several of the Scouts in a chorus.
"Large enough for us, lads," replied Mr Trematon with a hearty laugh. "Objects look deceptive when viewed from a height. Now, then, fall in! Sayers, Scott, Pat Coventry and Armstrong, follow the trek-cart with the drag ropes. You will want to keep it well in check going down the hill. Patrols—quick march!"
Down the zig-zag hill the Scouts made their way; at every step Seal Island seemed to get larger and larger, till at length the lads halted in the main and only street of Polkerwyck, where they were surrounded by all the available population: men, women and children to the number of about eighty.
"Welcome back to Polkerwyck, Mr Trematon, zur," exclaimed a hale, grey-headed fisherman, picturesquely attired in sou'wester (although the day was hot), blue jersey, tanned canvas trousers, and heavy sea-boots.
"Thanks, Peter Varco," replied the Scoutmaster, heartily shaking the old man's hand. "I am glad to see you again. You look just the same."
"Sure us old 'uns keep powerful hearty in these parts, Mr Trematon. Thanks be, I be middlin'. These be the Scouts, eh? Likely lads they be, although I reckon as they bain't up to our Cornish lads, eh, Mr Trematon? Squire's man, Roger Penwith, he comed down to see I yesterday. Says 'e, 'Squire has written to say Mr Trematon's Scouts are a' comin' to Seal Island, and Squire wants 'em looked after prop'ly-like.' 'Trust I to do my part,' says I, and sure enow I have a-done. The Pride of Polkerwyck—you'll remember 'er, Mr Trematon—is at your sarvice, an' the three small craft as well; so when you'm ready to go over along, them boats is ready."
"Thank you, Varco," said the Scoutmaster. "The sooner we get to the Island the better, for it is past sunset."
"And Roger Penwith 'e 'as placed a load or two o' firewood close alongside the landin' place, Mr Trematon. Thought as 'ow you'd be wantin' it."
"Good man, Mr Penwith!" ejaculated Mr Trematon. "We can find a place to store this cart, I suppose?"
"Sure there'll be a sight of room in yon hut," replied the fisherman.
"Unload the trek-cart, lads," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Keep each patrol's belongings apart. Atherton, will you take charge of one boat; Simpson, another; load the heavy gear into the third boat, and Phillips and Green will assist me in taking her across."
Hither and thither the Scouts ran, each with a set purpose, while the on-lookers watched with admiration as the baggage was unloaded and the trek-cart bundled at the double into the hut.
"Have you a key to the door, Mr Varco?" asked Everest, with characteristic caution, after the cart had been housed.
"Key, young man? What do 'e want wi' a key for, might I make so bold as to ax? Sure, us be all honest men in these parts," said Varco, in a tone of mingled reproof and pride.
At length the three boats were manned, and the Scoutmaster gave the word to push off and give way. Thanks to his early training Mr Trematon was thoroughly at home both on and in the water, and he had developed particular pains to instruct his lads in the art of managing a boat, till the style of the Collingwood College Scouts on the Highgate Pond became a subject of envy to most of the other troops in the district.
It was a ripping row. The only fault that the Scouts had to find was that it was far too short. The water was as calm as a mill-pond, although a faint roar betokened the presence of the customary ground-swell on the shore beyond the bay.
The Scouts landed in a sandy cove in the south-eastern side of the Island, where a winding footpath, that showed little signs of frequent image, wound its way up in a zig-zag fashion to the higher ground. The baggage was carried ashore, and the lads, having secured the boats' painters, prepared to convey their goods to the camping-place.
"You are not going to leave the boats like that, are you?" asked Mr Trematon.
"Aren't they all right, sir?" said Leader Simpson, inquiringly. "I made sure each painter was properly made fast with a clove-hitch, sir."
"Yes, that's all very well, but it is not good enough. You forget the rise of tide, which here exceeds fifteen feet at springs. Besides, it might come on to blow in the night, and even though the Island is sheltered from on-shore winds there would be sufficient swell to smash the boats to splinters. We must haul them well above high-water mark."
Back trooped the Scouts, and, taking up positions all round the first boat, tried to drag her up the steep incline; but as soon as the craft was clear of the water it was evident that the task was beyond them. The boat was heavily built, and all hands could not lift her forward another inch.
"Now what is to be done?" demanded Mr Trematon, with a view of testing the Scouts' practical knowledge.
"Put her on rollers, sir," suggested Jock Fraser.
"A good idea, but where are the rollers?"
"We can use our staves, sir."
"And spoil them by the rubbing of the boat's iron-bound keel. That would only be advisable in a case of necessity. To make use of the oars is open to a similar objection. Open that stern locker, Fraser. You'll find a powerful tackle there, if I'm not mistaken. Ah! There it is, and I can see a post driven in on purpose for hauling boats up."
The upper block was soon placed in position, and Fraser was about to bend the painter to the lower block when the Scoutmaster again called him to order.
"Won't do," he exclaimed. "You'll more than likely pull the stem out of her. Look at her forefoot, Fraser: do you see a hole bored through it?"
"Yes, sir," replied the Scout.
"Very well, then. There's a short iron bar in the locker. Thrust that through the hole and bend the block to it by this rope. That's it: now we can haul away, and the keel will take the strain. Four of you keep the boat upright and the rest tail on to the tackle."
By this means the heavy craft moved slowly arid surely, and was at length hauled above the line of dead seaweed that denoted the level of high-water spring tides. The remaining boats were treated in the same way, and the Scouts were free to proceed to the camping-ground.
Before ten o'clock the tents were pitched, a roaring camp fire threw its comforting glow upon the scene, and the two patrols were discussing their hard-earned and frugal supper with commendable avidity that betokened a healthy mind in a healthy body.
"Now, lads," exclaimed the Scoutmaster, as soon as the meal was concluded, "we must turn in. It has been a long day for us, and I don't suppose the majority of you will sleep very soundly the first night under canvas. But no talking, mind. There is a time for everything, and if talking is kept up those who might otherwise be able to sleep will be disturbed. Good-night!"