But the river banks were deserted. Right at the pier-head, underneath the flagstaff from which was displayed the storm-cone, were a couple of oil-skinned figures, but their attention was centred upon something in the offing—a fishing smack attempting to run for shelter, but compelled to await sufficient depth of water on the bar. The men were looking through telescopes. Every few minutes they were hidden from sight by showers of spray, yet, oblivious to their immediate surroundings, they kept their attention fixed upon the craft attempting to make the harbour.
Under Mr. Armitage's direction everything that could be done to assist the Rosalie to rise on the flood tide was undertaken. The scuttles were tightly closed, the dinghy swung out and lowered on to the mud so that her weight would not tend to retard the vessel's lift.
Stratton, with a light line made fast round his waist, lowered himself over the side on to a grating that he had previously dropped on the mud. Then, by the aid of a second grating, he moved a couple of feet nearer dry, or, rather, hard ground, lifting the first grating and placing it in front of him. It was a slow business, but at last the surface became sufficiently stiff to walk upon without the assistance of his improvised mud-pattens.
To the other end of the light line was bent the four-inch hawser. This Peter hauled ashore and made fast to a massive warping-post, repeating the process till a second rope was secured to the same post.
While the Patrol-leader was making his way back to the yacht the four-inch hawser was led to the for'ard winch, and the small rope taken aft and a watch-tackle clapped on to it.
"That's all we can do for the present," declared Mr. Armitage. "It's no use putting a strain on the ropes until the tide flows round her. Pipe all hands to breakfast, Peter."
Breakfast was a matter of inconvenience, not to say difficulty. The Primus stoves, not being gimballed, had to be propped up in a horizontal base and wedged to prevent them sliding bodily to leeward. The Sea Scouts ate their meal squatting tailor-fashion on the piled-up cushions. The only member of the crew who didn't take kindly to the novel situation was Bruin, whose attempts to walk the shelving floor caused roars of laughter from the boys.
"Time for action, lads," exclaimed Mr. Armitage, glancing through one of the cabin scuttles. Where the outlook formerly consisted of mud, there was now water. The rising tide was lapping round the side of the yacht.
Everyone on board realized the danger. Unless the Rosalie became waterborne before the rising tide flooded her cockpit and poured below, she would be covered to a depth of five or six feet at high water.
Scrambling on deck and holding on as they moved to their appointed stations, the Sea Scouts prepared for the coming ordeal.