"Evenin'!" was Old Garge's greeting. "Come aboard. Look alive, Tim, an' make fast the boat's painter. Then do 'ee cast off. There's Bill Moggridge an' Peter Wilson under way already. Us mustn't let 'em get across t' Bar ahead of the Fidelity."
Quickly, as the result of much practice, young Tim cast off the heavy mooring-chain from the bitts, and trimmed the head-sails. Heeling slightly to the light south-westerly breeze the smack gathered way, leaving hardly a ripple in her wake as she glided almost noiselessly through the calm water.
The sub revelled in the movement. Vividly it recalled long-past days in the Britannia's cutters, racing in the landlocked estuary of the Dart. Since then opportunities for fore-and-aft sailing had been few and far between. Contrasted with the terrific vibration of a swiftly moving destroyer, the gentle movement was peaceful and soothing.
A short spell of close-hauled work, as the smack tacked towards the entrance, was followed by a run, full and by, down the buoyed channel to the bar buoy. From the heights above Studland a stiff breeze swept down, causing the water to foam at the Fidelity's sharp stem.
"That be good!" ejaculated Old Garge. "Us be overtakin' them," and he nodded in the direction of the two boats that were still leading by less than a cable's length. "Wind'll drop afore long, I's afraid."
"It will go down with the sun," said Sefton. "But we'll get the first of the east-going tide outside."
The skipper of the Fidelity stared at his guest. Already he had come to the conclusion that the tall bronzed young fellow was no mere landlubber. The sub's deliberate pronunciation of the word "tackle" during a previous conversation had told him that.
"Patrol," announced the skipper laconically, indicating a steam trawler as she rounded the detached chalk pinnacle known as "Old Harry". "She's there to keep Garmin submarines away, you know. Ever seen a Garmin submarine, mister?"
"Have you?" enquired Sefton, countering the old fellow's curiosity.
"Only one, and 'er was no good to nobody," replied Old Garge. "They sunk 'er away down Christchurch Bay. Seed the navy chaps a-getting her up, only the patrol boat ordered me away. That was away back last summer. Since then they submarines 'ave given this part a wide berth."