CHAPTER X

Alan Speaks French

Sunrise--a grey sky and a high dawn; long drab-coloured rollers driven on by the steady westerly wind; away to the south'ard a line of dark-grey cliffs, hardly distinguishable from the sombre hues of sea and sky. This was the first impression of the French coast upon the minds of the Sea Scouts of the _Olivette_.

Here and there the coastwise lights were vainly endeavouring to hold their own against the steadily increasing dawn. The powerful beams from the lighthouses of Cape de la Hogue and Cape Levi had already been extinguished, but from the Digue and the high ground above the town of Cherbourg there were still faint pinpricks of luminosity.

Away to the east'ard a couple of tramps were ploughing against the strong ebb, making apparently for Havre. Between the _Olivette_ and the shore were about twenty fishing-boats, their dark-tanned sails close-hauled to the breeze as they raced homewards with the fruits of their night's toil.

"We haven't made a bad passage, sir," remarked Stratton as he came on deck.

"We're not there yet, Peter," replied Mr. Armitage. "We've hit a pretty hot ebb tide, and it's sweeping us to the west'ard. I'm afraid we won't do much till the young flood sets in."

"How fast is the tide running, sir?" asked the Patrol Leader.

"A good six knots, I imagine," was the reply. "Six knots broad on our port beam, and we're doing about eight. We'll be in luck if we're inside the breakwater by six o'clock. It's now eight minutes to four."

"Hello, Mr. Boldrigg!" exclaimed Peter, as the old seaman stumped aft, swinging his arms. "You've had a long trick."

"Yes," agreed Tom. "A middlin' long trick; but it's only making up for lost time, so to speak."

"There's hot cocoa below," announced the Patrol Leader.

"He insisted upon being look-out man," remarked Mr. Armitage after Boldrigg had disappeared below. "I offered to send for'ard a relief, but he wouldn't let me. He's been up in the bows ever since ten o'clock. He's certainly earned his passage. Sleep well, Peter?"

"Toppingly, sir," replied the lad. It was his first night on board while the boat was under way, and in spite of the motion and the rumble and vibration of the propeller, he had slumbered soundly and well.

"Good!" rejoined the Scoutmaster. "Then I think I'll turn in for an hour or so. You'll find a chart of Cherbourg in the wheel-house. Provided you make due allowance for the set of the tide, there is nothing of a difficult nature to contend against. You can just distinguish the central breakwater--the Digue. The eastern entrance is the one for us."

Mr. Armitage went below, while Stratton entered the wheel-house and "took over" from Flemming.

The next hour passed slowly. Although the young helmsman kept the _Olivette_ well against the tide, her progress seemed painfully slow. It was not until the tide slackened and changed that the boat made any appreciable headway.

"Call Mr. Armitage," said Stratton as the _Olivette_ rounded the Fort de l'Est--the easternmost point of the Digue--and the whole of the vast enclosed Cherbourg Harbour came into view.

The Scoutmaster was quickly on deck. "We're in, then?" he remarked. "Fine breakwater that. Have you any idea of what it cost?"

"No, sir," replied Peter.

"Roughly, £220 a linear foot," declared Mr. Armitage. "It took more than seventy years to build, and is 4060 yards in length, or two and a half times the length of Plymouth Breakwater. Now, Roche, slow down to five knots, and stand by the reversing-lever."

"Do we anchor, sir?" asked Peter.

"No," was the reply. "We'll go into the Avant Port and afterwards into the Bassin à Flot--that's a sort of dock with gates to prevent the water running out. Get the hands ready with the warps and fenders."

Very gently the _Olivette_ brought up alongside the weed-covered walls of the quay. As the tide had only just begun to rise, the masonry towered nearly thirty feet above her deck. Willing hands ashore helped to secure the little English craft, from the stern of which the Red Ensign drooped in the calm, sheltered basin.

Although it was yet early, the Sea Scouts had to receive a visitor. A short thick-set bearded Frenchman, with a sheaf of papers under his arm, ponderously descended the vertical ladder and scrambled upon the _Olivette's_ deck.

"Your papairs, ef you please," he demanded. "From England, eh? you is capitaine, monsieur? Have you anyt'ing to declare?"

"_Quelques boîtes d'allumettes, un peu de sel, pas de vin, pas de whisky, pas de tabac,_" replied Mr. Armitage.

The _douanier's_ face had grown graver and graver as the recital proceeded. This craft was different from those with which he usually had to deal. English yachts generally had spirits and beer on board, and as a result he had obtained a glass of whisky and a generous _pourboire_. This time he had struck a "dry" ship.

"I must ze search make," he declared.

"Certainly, Monsieur Jules," rejoined the Scoutmaster in French. "It will not be the first time you have explored my lockers."

The custom house official started and looked intently into Mr. Armitage's face. Then with an exclamation of surprise he flung his arms round the Scoutmaster's neck, and to the amusement of the crew, kissed him on both cheeks.

"_Ma foi,_" he exclaimed, "_c' est le capitaine de vaisseau_ Armitage. I am charmed to see you again, monsieur, but I failed to recognize you. No, the search is unnecessaire. I vill sign your papairs _tout de suite_."

He went with the Scoutmaster into the after cabin.

"Queer bird that," remarked Hepburn. "Fancy one man kissing another."

"Custom of the country, I suppose," rejoined Roche. "Wonder how he knew Mr. Armitage?"

The question was answered after the douanier had taken his departure.

"I met Jules when I was in R.N.V.R.," explained Mr. Armitage. "Our M.L.'s frequently put into Cherbourg, and as we generally had plenty of provisions on board and people ashore here were on very short allowances, we were made most welcome. Now, lads, we have to wait until nine o'clock before the dock gates open, so suppose we pipe all hands to breakfast."

"Fine idea, sir," replied Hepburn, who was always a good trencherman.

"It is," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "So you can nip ashore, Alan, and get some bread. The bakers open early here. Take this money. I took the precaution of getting Jules to change some for me."

He handed Hepburn a roll of papers, which at first sight looked like a bundle of Treasury notes. Actually these were franc notes, each of the value of about fivepence or sixpence.

Thrusting the money into his pocket, Alan swarmed up the ladder against the quay. At the top he paused and looked down upon his chums.

"I'm the first of you fellows to set foot on French soil at all events," he remarked proudly.

Then making his way between a crowd of interested waterside loafers, Hepburn set off on his quest.

It did not take him long to find a baker's shop.

He kept his eyes open for the word "_boulangerie_", and his sense of smell on the alert for the appetizing odour of new bread.

Alan was rather proud of his French. He had gained two prizes at school for his knowledge of that language, but when he found himself confronted by a portly pleasant-faced woman he was literally tongue-tied.

"Let me see," he soliloquized desperately; "what was that wheeze old Patinot taught us: If you eat new bread you'll have an 'ache'. Yes, that's it; ache is the French for bread--_Deux aches, s'il vous plaît, madame._"

Madame looked decidedly puzzled and shook her head.

"Oh, dash it all!" ejaculated the Sea Scout. "It wasn't ache; it was pain--same thing, only different: _Deux pains, s'il vous plaît._"

This time Madame was pleased to understand, and Alan was the recipient of a couple of loaves of about four inches in diameter and nearly a yard in length.

Triumphantly Hepburn carried his purchases back to the quay, and threw them into the outstretched arms of Warkworth.

"Since you've made such a success of your expedition, Alan," said Mr. Armitage, "I wish you'd take these letters to the postoffice. Remember to put a five centimes stamp on each. By the time you return breakfast will be ready."

Alan took the envelopes, reascended the ladder, and crossed the pavé-covered quay. After wandering for some distance without finding the post-office, it occurred to him to inquire the way.

A magnificently uniformed gendarme was walking down the street. Alan went up to him and saluted Scout fashion, and the gendarme replied with an elaborate military salute.

"_Au poste, monsieur!_" exclaimed Hepburn, sure of his ground this time.

"_Mais oui certainement,_" was the reply. "_Par ici, monsieur._"

The gendarme escorted Alan, and a steadily increasing crowd of idlers and children followed the pair. Hepburn felt rather elated. It was his Sea Scout's rig, he decided, that was such an attraction.

Throwing his shoulders back and holding his head high, he walked proudly by the side of his uniformed guide.

But he felt far from elated when the gendarme led him through a doorway into a low-ceilinged room where half a dozen armed men were standing. The door closed behind him, a gendarme planted his back against it, and half a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed upon the now astonished lad.

One thing was certain. Instead of being taken to the post-office, he had been shown into the police-station. It was an easy matter to enter, but would it be so easy to get out?