Percy F. Westerman

“ The sight of the Kestrel acted like a red rag to a mad bull as far as Blueskin Bone was concerned. The mere knowledge that had it not been for “them Sea Scoutses” he might have become the owner of the craft never ceased to anger him. Even when, acting upon the idea that Polkebo was getting too hot for him, he had shipped aboard the S.S. Lumberjack his resentment did not die down; it merely smouldered, to be revived to white heat when, quite unexpectedly, the Kestrel came in with the flood tide from the boisterous waters of the English Channel. ”

“ Then five of the boats shot ahead, amongst them the Kestrel’s borrowed gig. Her crew were working with a will and getting every ounce of power out of their backs and legs. They had a style about them, and Peter, as he watched their long, steady, and regular strokes, felt proud of his chums.
Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Craddock noticed that the Nottingham Sea Scouts’ boat was level on her starboard beam. Her crew, admirably trained, were rowing with the regularity of clockwork. Instinctively, Peter felt that here was a rival to be treated with respect. ”

“ He heard the rasping of the wickerwork against the Kestrel’s side, and once more the basket appeared in view, bobbing astern and now drifting naturally with the tide.
Molly’s bark grew louder and shriller. She had lost all interest in the basket and was directing her attention to something under the bows.
Before Craddock could go for’ard to investigate, the dripping head and shoulders of a man appeared above the rail. Then, obtaining a foothold on the bobstay, the intruder swung himself on the fore-deck, stood up, and steadied himself by means of the forestay. ”

“ Almost imperceptibly the Kestrel, steady as a rock, gathered way. The crowd ashore cheered. The Sea Scouts responded lustily. The gap between the yacht and the quay widened. The water began to ripple under the yacht’s forefoot. She heeled to the strengthening breeze.
“Take her, Brandon,” said Mr. Grant, relinquishing the tiller. “She’ll do.”
Against the still flowing tide the Kestrel made steady progress. She was “as stiff as a house,” and showed a decided tendency to carry weather-helm—a qualification that all craft under sail must possess if they are to be accounted seaworthy. ”

“ Even for a puppy its hair was long, its ears drooping. Neck, chest and forefeet were white, as was a blaze extending almost to the tip of its jet-black nose. The rest of the fur was of a dark grey hue.
“It’s our mascot, anyway,” declared Wilson. “My word, Peter; you were pretty smart in diving after it.”
“Was I?” rejoined Craddock in a muffled tone as he struggled into a dry jersey. ”

“ He looked at his crew. They were bearing up bravely. Talbot looked a little flustered, but was still rowing strongly. None of them had reached the gasping stage yet, although rivulets of perspiration trickled unhindered down their faces.
At the first bend the competitors met the full force of the wind ’gainst tide. The lean bows of the boat threw apart showers of spray, as the knife-like stem cleft the curling waves.
It was here that the Nottingham lads found themselves handicapped. Used to pulling in a river, they had never had the opportunity of rowing in a fairly high seaway. ”

“ The Kestrel, owing to her rig and generous amount of deadwood fore and aft, was hopelessly out of it against the performance of most of her competitors in the thrash to wind’ard. She could only hold on gamely. Even the Bristol boat was afloat once more and was tearing along in grand style. Astern a Dover yacht was in difficulties with a torn jib; while a Newhaven yawl and a Grimsby cutter, both under-canvassed, were indulging in a ding-dong race on their own account. ”

“ Fog, he knew, plays strange tricks with sound. Frequently there are zones of silence over which sounds leap to be distinctly audible at a long distance beyond the source of emission. All he knew concerning the Kestrel’s position was that she was drifting slowly in a south-easterly direction, but that on the turn of the Channel tide—which by no means coincided with the time of high and low water on the shore—the yacht would be swept in the reverse direction and possibly be driven aground on the dangerous coast between the Lizard and the Manacles. ”

“ Even a stunned man under water would be expelling air from his lungs and the bubbles would show on the surface. The difficulty was that already the yacht had covered fifty or more yards since the time the accident had occurred, and in consequence it was futile to attempt to dive after the lad. And yet it was agonising having to stand and watch and yet do nothing.
The Kestrel was now hove-to on to the port tack, her head-sheets, which had not been eased, being taut to wind’ard. The folds of the spinnaker hung idly over the starboard side between the shrouds and the forestay. ”

“ Making sure that every lad realised the supreme importance of refraining from striking a match, he told Brandon, Craddock, Heavitree, and Carline to follow him while the others dispersed the dangerous fumes from the interior of the saloon.
“Which way did the fellow go, Peter?” asked Mr. Grant.
Craddock told him.
“Away from his cottage, then,” continued the Scoutmaster. “Good! We’ll picket the place. A scoundrel like that deserves all he gets; but it’s just possible that he didn’t realise what might have happened. His idea might have been to set the yacht on fire and give us a scare. ”

“ The inspector listened with ill-concealed incredulity until somewhat reluctantly the Scoutmaster mentioned the name of Carlo Bone.
“I wish to goodness you were certain that was the fellow!” exclaimed the inspector. “We’ve been wanting to lay him by the heels for months past, but we can never fix him. He’s as slippery as an eel. You say he assaulted one of your lads and got knocked down in the process. Knowing the man, I’ve no doubt but what he will try to score off you.”
“Possibly,” agreed Mr. Grant. “We felt so sure that he was the fellow that we kept watch on his cottage all night. ”

“ The Kestrel was now so steady that Heavitree had no difficulty in lighting the stove. In about ten minutes his tousled head appeared, framed in the companion.
“Cocoa’s ready, sir,” he announced, “and all the others are awake and want cocoa too.”
“You want me, sir?” asked Brandon, as he edged past Heavitree in the companion.
“Yes, please,” replied Mr. Grant. “Have your cocoa and a biscuit first, then tell the others to get their breakfasts when they’re dressed. We don’t want too many on deck, if we’ve to tack in. And, while you are about it, you might hand me the chart of Dartmouth Harbour.” ”

“ Bodily tired though he was, Peter simply could not sleep. He lay thinking and thinking—which is a jolly bad symptom in a healthy youth. He was puzzling his brains to decide upon a suitable name for the Kestrel’s mascot.
Presently he realised that fine rain was falling on the tarpaulin placed over the uncompleted cabin-top. It was a strange sort of rain—falling intermittently. It smelt strange, too.
“Petrol!” thought the lad.
He sniffed suspiciously. This surmise was confirmed. The interior of the cabin was reeking with the fumes of that highly inflammable spirit. ”

“ In spite of the canvas shaking as the wind “spilled” it, the ketch heeled till her lee rail was awash; then, recovering, she leapt forward like a racehorse as Peter cautiously took a strain on the mainsheet.
At a warning shout, Mr. Grant hurried up from below, saw what Craddock had done, and nodded approval.
“She’s as stiff as a house,” he exclaimed reassuringly. “All the same, we’ll have the mizzen sail off of her while it’s still light . . . and the big jib as well. Bear a hand, Brandon, to get our patient below. He may get knocked about if he remains here.” ”

“ She had it all to herself, for the bunch of four were already on the homeward run, while the remaining two competitors were well astern.
“Stand by!” cautioned Mr. Grant. “Ready with the spinnaker!”
Moving as softly as cats, Carline and Heavitree prepared the halliards and out-haul of the spinnaker. Round swept the Kestrel, making the mark buoy curtsey in her wash. Over flew the boom in a deliberate gybe.
“Up spinnaker!” ordered the Scoutmaster.
In double quick time the huge but light triangular sail was set and sheeted home. Now the Kestrel was at her best. Running was her strong point. ”

“ At sunset the Sea Scouts returned to their respective craft, had supper, and turned in. Giving a final look round and satisfying himself that the riding-light was burning clearly, Mr. Grant followed the example of his crew.
“No need to turn out before seven,” he announced. “Get in a good night’s rest while you’ve the chance. You never know when you’ll get another when we’re under way.”
Peter Craddock was the first to awake. A pale grey light was filtering through the skylight. The Kestrel was rolling slightly, and the dinghy had just commenced to bump alongside. ”

“ Brandon brought the binoculars into action.
“Yes, you’re right, Talbot,” he replied. “It is the Merlin. She’s becalmed.”
“Then, we may overhaul her yet,” said Wilson.
“She’ll use her motor,” declared Craddock.
“If they can get the thing to go,” added Brandon. “But it’s rather strange. Here we are busting along with every stitch of canvas drawing, and they haven’t a breath of wind. The sea’s as smooth as glass a mile ahead.”
As far as the Kestrel was concerned the breeze held strong and true until she drew within a hundred yards of the Cornish Sea Scouts’ craft. Then the wind failed utterly. ”

“ He rather wished such was the case now.
“Get the fog-horn, Wilson,” he ordered. “Two blasts about every minute, please. And, Craddock, you might heave the lead. The others prepare to make sail.”
Groping his way for’ard, for the fog was so thick that even the still burning riding-lamp ten feet above the deck was invisible, Mr. Grant grasped the cable and hauled in the slack. One look was sufficient. The last of the remaining links had been deliberately cut through with a hack-saw. The rest of the chain, together with the anchor, was lying on the bed of Falmouth Harbour—miles away, probably. ”

“ Again the beams of the high light of Portland pierced the darkness, this time broad on the port beam. The roar of the Race steadily increased.
“Don’t think we’ll clear it,” muttered Brandon breathlessly, for sweeping the yacht was heavy and tiring work.
“I wish it were day,” rejoined Peter. “Then we could see where we are. How far are we from the Race, do you think?”
“Quite near enough,” admitted the Patrol Leader. “You’d better inform Mr. Grant and turn out a couple of hands to man the dinghy. We might be able to tow the yacht as well as sweep her.”
Craddock found the Scoutmaster awake. ”

“ Even then the Kestrel maintained a fair speed and rode the waves like a cork, with the dinghy’s bows high in the air as she strained at the end of a double length of stout 50-feet rope.
“Isn’t this top-hole, sir?” exclaimed Peter enthusiastically. “I’d rather be in the Kestrel than in that tramp which passed us some time ago.”
Before the Scoutmaster could offer any remark Brandon came out of the cabin.
“The man has come to,” he announced oracularly.
“How does he feel? Did he say?” asked Mr. Grant.
“Said he was thirsty, sir.”
Telling Craddock to take the helm, Mr. Grant went below. ”

“ Then Craddock began to be interested, too. And for a very good reason: the basket was not drifting with the tide. It was moving decidedly against it and slowly yet surely approaching the Kestrel’s bows.
“Come on deck, old man,” said Peter to his chum, in a low voice; but Heavitree, who had resumed his absorbing pastime, either did not hear or did not want to.
Presently the basket disappeared from Peter’s range of vision. From where he was standing in the cockpit he could not see the surface of the water in the vicinity of the yacht’s bows. ”

“ Grant turned to his crew.
“What shall we say, lads?” he asked.
There was a unanimous response in favour of Eric being allowed to stop on board. In spite of his old-fashioned ways, the boy had made himself well liked.
“Very well, then,” agreed the Scoutmaster. “I’ll run into Chichester to-morrow morning and see your uncle. But I’m afraid we can’t make you a Sea Scout. You’re not old enough, Eric; but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t become a Cub, and then when you are old enough you can become a Scout. Now, lads, who’s for the shore? A good sharp tramp is the thing. ”

“ Heavitree, enveloped by the canvas, had been jerked into the sea.
“Man overboard!” shouted Craddock. “Down helm, Carline!”
The helmsman put the tiller hard over. Peter, snatching up a life-buoy, prepared to throw it within easy reach of the Sea Scout in the ditch. The others, abandoning the spinnaker, rushed aft to bring the dinghy alongside to pick up their chum.
Alertly, Craddock watched the curving line of ripples astern as the Kestrel came up into the line. There was no sign of Heavitree. ”

“ Five minutes later the still considerably scared survivors of the sunken boat were transhipped to the passenger craft, and the Kestrel, running before the wind, resumed her attempt to overhaul the far-distant Merlin.
By this time Mr. Grant had recovered his customary even temper.
“After all, perhaps the silly ass couldn’t help being in a fearful funk,” he remarked. “When all’s said and done, bravery largely consists of being afraid of being afraid. . . . What’s that, Wilson? They’ve made the saloon slopping wet? Well, mop it up. That’ll be another Good Turn to your credit.” ”