The Patrol-leader saw all the rest of the deck hands into the cockpit, and then returned to the wheel-house. Mr. Armitage had thrown open the plate-glass windows, and was preparing grimly to enjoy himself.
"Get your oilskins," he ordered curtly. "We'll ship some seas, I'm thinking, and I can't see when the spray obscures the glass."
The Scoutmaster was perturbed. Not that he minded for himself. He was racking his brains as to the best course to pursue, whether to make for the Essex side, which was a weather shore, or continue down the river under the lee of the land. The first alternative involved anchoring, and he did not like the thought of immature lads handling a 60-pound anchor in the dark on the slippery deck. The second had an objection on the score that he was unacquainted with the river and that the traffic was heavy.
"I'll carry on down," he decided. "It's high water, and if I fringe the mud-banks I'll be out of the worst of the traffic. If she grounds, it's soft mud and a weather shore."
Having made this resolve, the Scoutmaster stuck to it. It was an anxious ten minutes crossing the fairway. There was a nasty cross sea running, in addition to the fact that several large vessels were in the vicinity. There were sailing craft, too, plunging along under reefed canvas, and at sea all vessels under power have to give way for those under sail.
Showers of spray tumbled inboard, flying through the open windows of the wheel-house and hissing on the hot cylinders. In addition to the reek of warm oil the wheel-house and engine-room were filled with steam. Bilge-water, thrown up by the fly-wheel as the Olivette pitched, added to the discomforts of those below.
But Mr. Armitage was blind to his immediate surroundings. His whole attention was centred upon the maze of lights. He had to determine quickly and accurately which were leading lights and which belonged to vessels under way. An error might result in a collision.
In spite of the discomforts the Sea Scouts were rather enjoying the situation. Confident in the ability of their Scoutmaster, they hadn't the slightest idea of the stress that Mr. Armitage was undergoing on their behalf. The night, too, hid much of the peril that beset them. Even the helmsman was ignorant of the fact that once the Olivette literally scraped past a huge mooring-buoy, massive enough to crush her well-built planks like an egg-shell.
At length the boat gained the comparatively quiet water of the Essex shore. Here, gauging his distance, Mr. Armitage ported helm.
Then the Olivette began to show her weak point. She was undoubtedly "tender", rolling like a barrel. The Scoutmaster, standing with his feet planted widely apart, gave a rapid glance behind him to reassure himself that his youthful crew were all right. They were hanging on to the first secure object that they found, wondering, doubtless, what had suddenly possessed the Olivette to behave thus; while Roche, swallowing mouthfuls of salt-laden steam, was manfully standing by the reversing-lever.