Hayes brought the desired article. With a couple of fellows holding on to his legs the Patrol Leader tried for a full five minutes, until, red in the face and cramped in body and limbs, he desisted from his unsuccessful attempt.
"The stuff's as hard as a chunk of iron," he announced. "I'll get Warkworth to start up again and put the gear into the reverse. That might throw the rope clear. Stand by with that dinghy's painter: we don't want that fouled as well."
The motor being warm it did not take long to restart even on paraffin. Then Warkworth let in the clutch in the reverse, and, although the engine did not labour quite so much, the desired result was not attained. An examination of the propeller, after the motor had been running for a couple of minutes, revealed the disconcerting fact that the rope was still wound tightly round the boss. In the ahead position the undue strain on the shaft almost pulled the engine up dead.
"I suppose the only thing to be done is to set a square-sail and make either for Torquay or Brixham," remarked Woodleigh. "We're bound to get a tow in, and at low tide we can cut the rope away."
"Then we won't make Plymouth to-day," added Flemming.
"Let me have a cut at it, Woodleigh," said Jock Findlay quietly.
"How?" asked the Patrol Leader.
"By diving for it," replied Jock.
Findlay was the champion diver of the 9th Southend Troop of Sea Scouts. Only a few weeks previously he had carried off first prize in a plate-diving competition in fifteen feet of water. One rival came to the surface with twelve tin plates. Another brought up sixteen. When Findlay reappeared after he dived he held eight plates in his hand; and while the onlookers, who regarded Jock as the favourite, were showing their surprise at the small number Findlay had handed over, the wily Sea Scout produced another twelve from the inside of his bathing-dress.
"Can you?" queried the doubting Woodleigh. "You'll be knocked out if the counter gives you a crack. The boat's rolling a bit."