"We're in luck," said Woodleigh, pointing to a small paddle-steamer ahead. "She'll be our pilot."
In a few minutes the Olivette had overhauled the paddle-boat sufficiently to be right in her foamy wake. Speed was still further reduced until the distance between the two craft was evenly maintained.
"Woodleigh will make one of the smartest coastal navigators going," observed Mr. Armitage to his brother Scoutmaster. "He knows all the 'tricks of the trade' already. He'd make a capital master of a tug or coasting vessel, but curiously enough he hasn't shone at deep-sea navigation. I tried to teach him to work out a position by sextant, but it was hopeless."
"And yet, on the other hand," rejoined Mr. Graham, "how many seamen one meets who are absolutely out of it when navigating in shallow waters. I've seen Royal Navy men—jolly smart fellows at their work—'tied up in knots' when compelled by circumstances to navigate shallow, intricate channels, through which yachtsmen and fishermen venture with impunity."
Calstock, a small village boasting a magnificent stone railway bridge across the river, came into sight. This was the Olivette's limit as far as the Tamar was concerned. Berthing alongside the quay and astern of the steamer that had perforce acted as a pilot, the crew once more bade their guests and fellow Sea Scouts good luck.
Mr. Graham, armed with an Ordnance map, "set the course", aiming as far as possible to keep off the highroad. This meant loss of speed; but on the other hand it was preferable to tramping stolidly along a hard-surfaced highway.
The lads were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Tramping after a sea voyage came as a complete change. What was more, there was a goal for which they were making—something to speed them to renewed energies. By five o'clock in the afternoon they arrived at the old-fashioned Cornish town of Launceston, where, guided by a local Scoutmaster, they found a splendid camping-ground a little to the north of the town.
It was a Spartan-like camp, but fortunately the weather was decidedly on the mend. The drizzle they had experienced at Plymouth had been left behind, and on the lofty Cornish hinterland the ground was quite dry and the air marvellously bracing.
Very soon a fire was burning brightly. Over it, suspended by a stout sapling held up by a couple of crossed poles, the kettle boiled very quickly.
It was a gorgeous, Scout-like meal. Tea slightly flavoured with the reek of burnt wood, huge slabs of bread liberally plastered with fresh butter, kippers (purchased in Launceston) fried in the hot embers, and huge, floury potatoes baked in their skins, made a satisfying and appetizing repast.