"I'm to blame," soliloquized the Scoutmaster. "That's a lesson never to leave the deck with only a youngster in charge. I ought to have known that the Rosalie's canvas is only an auxiliary to her motors, and not the motors to the canvas. She's not built as a sailing-craft, and she won't go about under sail alone. So in future I'll bear that in mind."
Twenty minutes later the Rosalie moored alongside a barge in a basin on the Felixstowe side of the harbour, and her crew had an opportunity of investigating the damage.
The saloon presented a picture of utter chaos. The floor was literally paved with fragments of crockery, cemented with jam, marmalade, and greasy gravy. On this conglomeration of debris the cushions on the windward bunk had been hurled, together with the contents of a bookcase which had been wrenched from its fastenings by the abnormal list.
In the galley things were almost as bad, but the fo'c'sle came off lightly. That was mainly owing to the methodical stowing of gear by the lads themselves, and the few kit-bags that had been dislodged were quickly replaced.
It was rough luck to have to set to work to clear up after a long day's run, but the Sea Scouts tackled the job manfully and cheerfully, and in less than an hour and a half the Rosalie 'tween decks was reduced to a state of order.
"We were not the only craft in that squall, sir," reported Stratton. "There's a tug coming in with two dismasted boats."
The two Scoutmasters and the rest of the Sea Scouts hurried on deck. Passing the entrance to the basin was a fussy little steamer towing two large "bawleys". One of the latter showed about ten feet of mast ending in a jagged stump. The other's mast had been snapped off close to the deck, and evidently her crew had been compelled to cut the sails and wreckage clear. The first boat was more fortunate, for her spars and canvas were lashed to her deck.
"Hard lines," commented Mr. Armitage; "but those fellows' plight rather vindicates us. If two professionally-manned fishing-boats are dismasted without warning, we were fortunate in merely being thrown on our beam ends without losing any of our deck-gear. Now, lads, turn in. Glass is rising slowly, and the sky's red. With luck, we'll be in Dover to-morrow night."