"Best part of an hour, sir," replied the old man. "'Sides, we can easily pull the sack aboard again and fill up with ile."
But in less than twenty minutes the engine was running again with her flywheel well clear of the bilge-water. The Sea Scouts at the pump had seen to that.
Slowly the Olivette was brought round head to wind. With strenuous efforts the canvas bag was hauled inboard, and the order given for full speed ahead.
Buffeted by the waves, with spray flying in solid showers twenty feet above the wheelhouse, the little ship resumed her dash for home.
Another lift in the rain-laden mirk showed the Isle of Wight now two points on the port bow. Mr. Armitage hailed the sight with whole-hearted satisfaction. He was running for the eastern side of the island in order to get under the lee of the land. Although it was the longer course, it was far preferable to having the dangerous stretch of coast between St. Catherine's and The Needles under his lee.
Nearer and nearer came Old England's shores. Every revolution of the propeller was decreasing the distance between the Olivette and sheltered waters.
At eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Armitage went into the wheel-house, where Woodleigh and Warkworth were doing a double trick at the helm, for it required more than one strong lad to master the kicking wheel.
"I'll take on for a spell," he said. The lads regarded their Scoutmaster curiously. Knowing the previous arrangement that Mr. Armitage was not to take any active part in the navigation of the ship, his decision rather puzzled them.
"We're quite all right, sir," protested Woodleigh.
"I'm stiff with doing nothing," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "A tussle with the wheel will do me good."