So the offer was gladly accepted. Mr. Graham, Frank Bedford, Pat Hayes, and Ted Coles had taken train to Portsmouth; Patrol Leader David Desmond and Second Jock Findlay had done the ninety odd miles journey on their trusty push-bikes. Taking two days over the distance, they were awaiting the train-party at Portsmouth Harbour Station when the Scoutmaster and his three young companions arrived with their somewhat generous amount of luggage.
It was a matter for mutual regret that some members of the troop were unable to be present. The fact remained that out of three patrols only five Sea Scouts were able to accept the Wootton Bridge lads' invitation, although it was just possible that others might do so later on.
From Portsmouth the elated Sea Scouts crossed by steamer to Ryde, their one disappointment being that they were unable to have a glimpse of Nelson's Victory, but the staunch old three-decker was in dry dock, undergoing a thorough overhauling to repair the ravages of Father Time.
At Ryde they commenced their four-mile tramp to Wootton Bridge, their gear being piled upon a trek-cart lent them by some obliging brother-Scouts.
It was late in the afternoon when the Sea Scouts had their first view of Wootton Creek, and rather unfortunately it was nearly low water. From the top of the hill they could see a very narrow stream meandering between banks of mud. On either side the ground rose steeply, the left bank being thickly wooded. Away to their right the Sea Scouts could discern the creek winding towards the open waters of Spithead, while in the distance the flat coast of Hampshire cut the skyline.
"Where's the guardship, sir?" asked Hayes.
"There she is, unless I'm greatly mistaken," replied the Scoutmaster, pointing to a long, low, black hull with a white superstructure.
"She's not very big," remarked Ted Coles, the greenhorn, dubiously. "And the creek's little larger than a ditch."
"Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth," said Desmond. "Wait till we're aboard. Things look a bit deceptive from a height. Come on, you fellows, it's down hill all the rest of the way."
At length the Sea Scouts and their trek-cart came to a halt outside an old mill. Here the main road from Ryde to Newport, the "capital" of the Isle of Wight, crosses the creek by means of a brick bridge. Close to it is the village that takes its name from the bridge.