CHAPTER XVII
THE MYSTERIOUS YACHT
Until over the following Sunday the Scouts of Seal Island "stood easy." The usual routine was maintained, but operations necessitating arduous work were temporarily dispensed with. The lads were all more or less done up. Want of sleep, exposure to the rain, and a surfeit of excitement tried them to a very great extent; but, thanks to their physical training, they were soon little the worse for the experiences they had undergone.
Even Coventry minor's case showed good signs of improvement. He was still unable to leave the doctor's house, but there was every chance of his being fit to take part in the camp before the end of a fortnight.
Early on Tuesday morning, the two patrols started on a boating excursion. The "Otters," with the Scoutmaster, took Varco's largest boat, while the "Wolves" embarked in a craft only slightly smaller. Both boats were provided with masts and sails, the area of the latter being comparatively small, so that there was little chance of a catastrophe occurring. Mr Buckley was a skilled and keen boat-sailer, while Simpson and Fraser of the "Wolves" knew enough about the management of a small craft under sail to be entrusted with the care of the one in which their patrol embarked.
After the gale, which had finished with the torrential rain that had caused the flooding of the subterranean passage, the weather set in fair, with a very high temperature. The Scouts unanimously voted that it was simply ripping weather for camping, and the discomforts of the gale were now almost forgotten.
It was the intention of the Scouts to circumnavigate Seal Island. A better day could not have been chosen. There was hardly any wind: what there was was off shore, while—a somewhat unusual circumstance—the ground-swell was absent.
Past the now familiar Dollar Cove the lads rowed, pausing every now and then to admire the fantastic outlines of the rugged cliffs.
"Mackerel in the bay," announced Mr Buckley, pointing to a shimmering light on the surface of the water, about half way across to Beware Head.
"I wish we had some rag worm for bait," said Jim Sayers. "There are two lines in the boat, but without bait they might just as well not be there."
"Don't say that," rejoined the Scoutmaster, laughing. "Let me have a look at the lines. Ah! they're properly hooked. Sayers, I see an old tin can under the bow thwart. Give it a rub on the leather of your oar and pass it to me."
The Tenderfoot did as Mr Buckley suggested. With a pair of pocket scissors the Scoutmaster cut three spoon-shaped pieces from the now glittering tin, curved them with his fingers and attached the metal to the line just in front of the three-barbed hooks.
"Well I never!" ejaculated Sayers. "To think that fish make a meal out of a chunk of tin."
The lines were paid out, the metal discs jumping erratically under the resistance of the water.
Three minutes later, Sayers felt a sharp tug on his line.
"A fish!" he exclaimed excitedly.
"Haul it slowly and carefully or you'll lose it," cautioned Mr Buckley. "Yes, Sayers, you've hooked a beauty."
Wildly struggling, a fair-sized mackerel was landed into the boat, its gills impaled by two barbed hooks. After that the sport was fast and furious, and before the boats were abreast of Beware Head eleven fish were lying on the bottom boards of the "Otters'" boat, and nine fell to the lot of the "Wolves."
"There's a cutter close inshore," observed Phillips, as the boats rounded North Head.
"She's too close in for safety," added Mayne. "She can't be very far from the reef where the tramp steamer struck."
"She's anchored," declared Atherton. "I can see the cable. She's a good distance this side of the reef, nearly opposite the Tea Caves, I should imagine."
"We'll pull close to her and see if anything's wrong. Perhaps they've missed the tide, and have anchored close inshore till slack water," said Mr Buckley. "Give way 'Wolves'; we'll race you."
The "Wolves" did give way with a will, and being in a lighter and fairly narrow-beamed boat they outstripped their friendly rivals.
"That will do," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Take it easy now."
The cutter was a yacht of about ten tons. Since she had no name on her counter, Mr Buckley came to the conclusion that she belonged to a recognised yacht club in spite of the fact that she flew no burgee.
She was moored with two anchors and cables—an unnecessary business unless she was to stay over one tide. A dinghy was made fast astern, and this was the only intimation the Scouts had that there was some one on board the yacht, for her deck was deserted.
"Yacht ahoy!" hailed the Scoutmaster.
Two disreputable-looking men clad in blue jerseys and dirty canvas trousers emerged hurriedly from the cabin.
"Wot d'ye want, Capting?" asked the taller of the two, with an insolent ring in his voice.
"We thought you were brought up too close inshore," said the Scoutmaster. "Perhaps you're strangers to this part of the coast?"
"I'll chaunce me arm over that, old mate," was the reply. "We're bloomin' well all right, cocky. When the tide serves we'll sweep the blinkin' boat rahnd to Padstow if there's no bloomin' wind."
"Give way, lads," ordered the Scoutmaster.
Not a word more was spoken till both boats had put an intervening headland between them and the cutter and her surly crew.
"They're a churlish set," remarked Mr Buckley. "I wonder what their little game is, bringing up so close to the Tea Caves?"
"Do you know, sir, I believe—although I am not quite sure—that the shorter man is one of the fellows who threw Sir Silas over Hungerford Bridge."
"Eh?" exclaimed Mr Buckley, incredulously. "I think so, sir. And another thing I noticed: those fellows said they would sweep the yacht to Padstow if there were no wind."
"That's so," agreed the Scoutmaster.
"Then why would they want to row her when there's a motor on board, sir?"
"A motor—how do you know, Atherton?"
"I noticed the propeller under the water, sir."
"You did? I missed that, then. I was directing my attention to the stern to see if a name had been painted out. It is quite possible, since the yacht is a fairly decent one, that those two fellows have stolen it. Such acts are not uncommon. That also might be an explanation for their statement that they intended to use their sweeps. They might be ignorant of how to run a motor."
"Looks fishy, sir," remarked Phillips. "Do you think, since they are close to the mouth of the Tea Caves, that they have anything to do with Paul Tassh?"
"The possibility is somewhat remote. Tassh is, according to all accounts, hiding in London."
"With the bulk of the booty, sir?"
"Well, since you suggest it, there might be something in the wind between those two surly fellows and Paul Tassh," admitted Mr Buckley. "I thought we had finished with the business. However, I'll call for volunteers to patrol the cliffs above the Tea Caves tonight if the yacht hasn't cleared off in the meantime."
With that the voyage was resumed. At the blowing holes the Scouts landed, in order to investigate this natural curiosity; but, owing to an absence of wind and no sea running, the "performance was off," as Neale expressed it.
The lads thoroughly enjoyed a scamper over the remarkably shaped rocks, which were only accessible from the sea; and here a substantial lunch was partaken.
"I wonder what would happen if we stopped up the blowing hole?" asked Reggie Scott of his churn Sayers, pointing to an orifice in the rock about three inches in diameter, which was worn perfectly smooth by the violent up-burst of water.
"I reckon it would go off like a pop-gun the first time the waves broke under it," replied Sayers. "But what's the use? We shan't be here to see what happens."
"I'll fill it up, just for fun," said Scott. "Let's see how deep it is first."
Lying at full length on the flat-topped rock, the Tenderfoot bared his arm and thrust it down.
"I can't reach anything like far enough, Sayers," he began. "It will take a lot of filling up——"
His remarks were rudely interrupted by a sudden rush of compressed air. Before Scott could throw himself clear of the blow-hole he was drenched to the skin by a torrent of water forced through the circular hole in the rock.
Sayers yelled with delight, but his mirth was brought to an abrupt termination by a regular waterspout from another blow-hole close to where he was standing. Slipping on the weed-covered rock, he subsided on his back, and while in this ignominious position he was completely enveloped in the falling spray.
At the first sign of the spout Atherton, Simpson, Phillips, and Coventry made a hurried dash for the boats. They were only just in time to prevent them from being dashed broadside on to the beach as three rollers in quick succession hurled themselves up the rocks.
"It must have been the swell of a steamer," declared Simpson, after the sea had resumed its placid condition.
"Steamer? I saw none within a mile or so of shore," remarked Phillips, "and the last one quite a quarter of an hour ago."
"That, no doubt, was the one that caused the three rollers," remarked Mr Buckley, who had overheard the Scouts. "The swell of a large steamer, travelling at a fair speed, will be felt five miles off, and at a considerable time after the ship has passed abreast of that part of the shore on which the waves break. But come along, lads, we've seen the blowing holes at work, and some of you have wet shirts in consequence."
Into their boats the Scouts jumped, and once more the coasting trip was resumed. Without further incident the lads landed at the cove, hauled the boats up the slope, and returned to camp for dinner.