The barge skipper was well satisfied. At an outlay of ten pounds for towage, he had made to the extent of fifty or sixty pounds in times when freightage was higher than it had ever been before.
CHAPTER IX
Caught Out
It was with a certain amount of difficulty that the Scoutmaster made the "watch below" turn in. The lads were reluctant to leave the deck. It was a calm, peaceful evening, despite a falling glass, and the prospect of the chief maritime highway of the world's commerce fascinated them. A huge liner, one blaze of lights, was creeping up to an anchorage off Tilbury; tramps, coasters, barges, and tugs were constantly passing to and fro, their navigation-lights forming a galaxy of red, green, and white.
"You fellows will be fat-headed when it's your turn for duty," remarked the Scoutmaster. "As a matter of fact, you may all turn in. We won't require an anchor watch."
The Sea Scouts obeyed, but Mr. Armitage had no intention of following their example He went to his cabin and carefully perused the chart, at the same time noting the still-falling barometer.
"If the wind comes from the sou'-west or south'ard, we'll do all right here," he soliloquized. "If it's east or north, then it's a case of look out."
Mr. Murgatroyd, tired out with his long day, had gone to his bunk in the after-cabin, but there were signs that he was far from comfortable. Possibly he was hankering after a snug bed ashore and a floor that didn't rock, although ever so gently.
About midnight the Scoutmaster went on deck. It was now nearly high tide, and a distinct "popple" of tide was in evidence. Overhead the starlit sky was beginning to become overcast—long, ragged clouds throwing out tapering fingers that pointed to a blow from the nor'ard.