CHAPTER XI

"Wounded"

"Alan's not hurrying himself," remarked Roche, when the appetizing breakfast was half consumed.

"He certainly ought to have been back by this time," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Perhaps he is entering into conversation with some French Scouts."

"That reminds me," said Flemming, who also prided himself upon a knowledge of the French language. "I was wondering what to say as an exclamation when we are talking to these Scouts. For instance, what is the usual translation of 'Well, I'm jiggered'?"

"I've rarely heard you say that, Flemming," observed Peter. "You generally exclaim, 'Well, I'm blest', I notice."

"That's easily translated, then," rejoined Flemming. "It's merely: _Je suis blessé._"

Apparently Eric's rendering of the phrase satisfied his companions. Mr. Armitage smiled to himself, but said nothing. He was rather curious to know what would happen when Flemming expressed himself thus.

"I'll let it go at that," concluded Flemming. "Now, what about Alan, you fellows? Hadn't we better send out a search-party?"

Stratton and Roche volunteered to accompany Eric, and receiving the Scoutmaster's permission, they went ashore.

Inquiries of people on the quay soon put the searchers on the track. The young English Sea Scout had been a fairly conspicuous feature on the French landscape. After proceeding down three or four streets, Flemming received the startling information that the lost youth had been seen taken into the police-station under the care of a gendarme.

"What's he been doing, I wonder?" asked Roche. "Butting up against some rotten red-tape regulation, I expect. Hadn't we better inform Mr. Armitage?"

"Let's make certain that Alan's under arrest first," suggested the Patrol Leader, and, led by a gamin, the Sea Scouts proceeded to the police-station.

At the door they nearly collided with the lost youth. Hepburn, looking rather red in the face, showed no enthusiasm at seeing his chums.

"I made a mistake," he admitted. "I mistook the police-station for the post-office, and it took me some time to explain."

Flemming roared with merriment.

"You're a bright one!" he exclaimed. "I know what you did: you asked for '_le poste_' instead of '_la poste_'. The first means a police-station, the second a post-office. That's one up against you, my festive."

The letters having been stamped and posted, the four Sea Scouts returned to the _Olivette_, where Hepburn made a belated breakfast to the accompaniment of a running fire of chaff from his chums.

"You wait," declared Alan, imperturbably; "I'll score off you fellows yet."

The breakfast things having been washed up and stowed away, the Sea Scouts set to work to scrub decks and make the _Olivette_ look a credit to them. By the time this task was accomplished the gates of the Bassin-à-Flot were opened. In four hours the _Olivette_ had been lifted vertically through a height of eighteen feet by the rising tide.

"You see now why I want to try and bring the boat into the floating-dock," observed Mr. Armitage. "If we remained in the tidal harbour we would have to be continually altering the scope of the warps as the level of the water changed. Here we are relieved of that trouble and responsibility, and there is no necessity to have to ascend and descend the long ladder to get ashore or on board at low water."

The _Olivette_ safely moored, the Sea Scouts prepared for a ramble ashore, to see the sights of the town. Flemming was not one of the party, having been told off to act as ship-keeper; while old Tom Boldrigg was making up for his prolonged trick as look-out man by sleeping soundly on one of the locker seats in the well.

While his comrades were seeing the sights, Eric Flemming had by no means a dull time. It quickly dawned upon him that the many advantages of the Bassin-à-Flot were outdone by the obvious disadvantages of the place. The hot sun pouring down upon the enclosed space of water was too strong to be pleasant, especially when the heat caused the garbage floating upon the surface to emit most unpleasant odours.

It was Flemming's first experience of a "wet" dock, and before very long he sincerely hoped it might prove his last.

After a while Eric went below to escape the glare. He had not been in the cabin more than five minutes before a dull thud sounded on the deck over his head. Then came another thud, followed by others in quick succession, until Flemming realized that the _Olivette_ was being bombarded.

Putting on his cap, the lad gained the well. Almost as soon as he stepped outside the cabin door a missile hit him on the head. Fortunately the thick sailor's cap with its white cap-cover mitigated the blow, but even then it was sufficient to make the lad wince.

He quickly took in the situation. Ten or twelve ragged gamins were gathered on the edge of the quay, engaged in the pleasant and congenial task of hurling stones and cabbage-stalks upon the _Olivette's_ deck and raised cabin-top.

"_Alles-vous-en!_" shouted Flemming. The boys retreated a few steps, but seeing that the Sea Scout made no attempt to follow up his advantage, they held their ground, jeering and redoubling their fire.

Eric hardly knew what course to pursue. It was not good form to start scrapping on foreign soil. A jolly sound hiding, he reflected, would do the gamins a world of good, but there were the after results to be taken into consideration. If each of the aggressors went away and returned with two or three pals, the _Olivette_ would hardly be tenable under a terrific fusillade of stones and garbage. On the other hand, he could not allow the boat to be made into a sort of maritime Aunt Sally for the edification of a crowd of juvenile ruffians.

He might have parleyed with them, or bribed them to go away quietly, but this method did not appeal to his British spirit. He was alone. Old Boldrigg was sleeping profoundly, quite oblivious to the tocsin sounding over his head.

Springing ashore, Flemming rushed at his tormentors. They turned and fled incontinently, although several of them were bigger than Eric. He chased them for about fifty yards along the quay, and then returned to the _Olivette_.

But the retreat was only temporary. The moment Flemming regained the deck the gamins returned, the number considerably augmented, while a crowd of men engaged in unloading a schooner ceased their work to watch and enjoy the scene.

Flemming waited until the first missile of the renewed attack hurtled through the air, then he charged his assailants. Again the latter took to their heels, but Eric meant to see the business through this time.

Overtaking and ignoring the smaller and weaker of the boys, he held on until he collared a tall, hulking fellow, who was one of the ringleaders. Applying a very effective arm-lock, Flemming made his captive accompany him to the _Olivette_.

"Now I've found a hostage," thought Eric, as he deftly drew the lad's arms behind him and round the mast and lashed the wrists together. "They won't dare to hurl things on board now."

But he was mistaken. The gamins found increased delight in pelting their former leader. Perhaps they had a grudge against him. There he stood, yelling and bawling threats against his fellows until Flemming felt obliged to release him.

"'Spose I must grin and bear it until the others return," he soliloquized, as the boys renewed the bombardment.

Suddenly the gamins, uttering shouts of warning, took to their heels.

Looking to see what had caused the flight, Flemming saw a troop of French Scouts doubling along the quay. There were two patrols--about fourteen Scouts in all--but before them, the gamins, numbering between forty and fifty, simply melted away.

The Patrol Leader saluted Flemming courteously, and the Sea Scout smartly returned the salute. Then in a curious mixture of French and English and a broken attempt at both, the Scouts and the Sea Scout engaged in a "palaver".

It was rather a one-sided affair. A dozen French Scouts were talking and asking questions simultaneously, while the English Sea Scout hardly knew which remark to reply to.

"I have been to l'Angleterre," declared one of the Scouts. "Ze last summaire I vas at Sout'ampton at ze rally."

"I was there, too," replied Flemming; then using his Gallicized version of his favourite ejaculation, he added, "_Je suis blessé._"

The effect was startling and electrical. There was a brief pause following Eric's words. A dozen Scouts invaded the _Olivette_. Grasped by several pairs of hands, the astonished Flemming, too taken aback to offer any resistance, was gently deposited upon the deck. A confused babel greeted his ears, one of the most frequently used words being "_blessé_". Several of the French Scouts produced a packet of bandages and a first-aid outfit, while there were shouts raised for "_le médecin_".

"What's the game," thought the bewildered Flemming. "Are they giving a first-aid demonstration and using me as a subject, just to show how they go about it?"

Someone placed a pile of rolled coats under his head. His shoes and stockings were deftly removed. His jersey was peeled off, although it looked at one time as if the French Scouts meditated cutting it away. They felt his heart and his pulse, and tried to examine his tongue.

In the midst of the demonstration, the timely arrival of Mr. Armitage and the rest of the Sea Scouts saved Flemming from further unrequired attention. Quickly the well-meaning and excitable French lads were induced to desist, and Eric was allowed to regain his feet.

"What have you been doing, Flemming?" asked his Scoutmaster. "Have you hurt yourself?"

"No, sir," replied Eric.

"Then why are these Scouts on board with their first-aid bandages?"

"I don't know, sir; I'm blessed if I do!" declared Flemming. "I was just talking to them, and----"

"I suppose you said, 'Well, I'm blessed' in French," added Mr. Armitage with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"I certainly remember saying '_Je suis blessé_'," admitted Flemming, who was beginning to feel a bit dubious as to whether what he had said was what he meant to say.

"That did it," continued Mr. Armitage. "I knew it would happen before very long. '_Je suis blessé_' is not 'I'm blessed' but 'I am wounded'. Hurry up and go below and get dressed properly."

The discomfited Flemming beat a hasty retreat amidst the laughter of his companions.