Suddenly Woodleigh put the helm hard a-port. Round swung the Olivette until her head pointed towards two small beacons in line.
"Wherever is he making for?" whispered Jock. "There's nothing but mud as far as I can make out."
But a little later on the helm was starboarded, and the Southend Sea Scouts saw the entrance to the creek on their port hand—one of the snuggest little anchorages imaginable, being sheltered by the long stretch of shingle on which Hurst Fort is built.
"There are our moorings," said Woodleigh, indicating a roped barrel bearing the word "Olivette".
"Aren't you going to slow down and pick it up?" inquired Hayes.
"No," was the reply. "Our Scoutmaster's orders are to carry on alongside the wharf. I don't know why, but that's neither here nor there. He generally lets us carry on, but when he does give an order we've jolly well got to obey."
Without mishap the Olivette was berthed alongside the dilapidated wharf. Then Scoutmaster Armitage told his crew to form up, as he wanted to tell them something.
"I suppose the motor is quite satisfactory, Flemming?" he inquired, for one of the reasons for the Olivette's run to Wootton was to test the engine after an extensive overhaul.
"Yes, sir."
"That's good. Now, I want you and Woodleigh to fill up the tanks as soon as possible. Warkworth and Hepburn, you'll undertake the provisioning as usual. Make preparations for victualling twelve persons for two days. Rayburn and Willis, get your bikes out of the store and ride round and tell the various parents that we're sailing at daybreak to-morrow, and that the crew are sleeping on board to-night. That's the new arrangement. All right: dismiss."