"Looks like a stranded whale."
"That's the wreck of the monitor Glatton," replied Mr. Armitage. "She caught fire, and over a hundred lives were lost. There was enough explosive material on board her to destroy the greater part of the town."
"Why didn't it?" asked Woodleigh.
"The Handy Man saw to that," continued the Scoutmaster. "A destroyer torpedoed the monitor and sent her to the bottom of Dover Harbour. I'd like to take you over the old castle," he continued; "but it's out of the question just at present. Another day, perhaps, when we come here in our own craft."
Out once more into open glided the Rosalie, and soon she was rolling and pitching in the strong tideway. It was not until she gained the broad expanse off Romney Marsh, where the low flat shore presented a poor contrast to the towering chalk cliffs, that smooth water gave place to the "rip" off Dover.
"Take her, Woodleigh," said the Scoutmaster. "S.W. by W.3/4W. is the course. You'll sight the lighthouse at the end of Dungeness very soon."
It was a pleasant, uneventful run. The Sea Scouts found recuperative rest after their adventure by basking on deck and taking notice of the numerous vessels passing to and from the Downs. The English Channel was here like a mill-pond. Not a ripple disturbed the surface. Occasionally the yacht lifted to the far-flung wash of a passing ship, but beyond that she was as steady as a liner.
"Something sticking out of the water right ahead, sir," reported the helmsman.
Mr. Armitage hurried to the wheel-house. Visions of drifting mines flashed across his mind. According to the papers, two of these sinister objects had recently been washed ashore on the Sussex coast.
But the object Woodleigh indicated was miles ahead—a slim, tapering column, rising apparently from a waste of water a point or so on the yacht's starboard bow.