CHAPTER XIII

The Bore

The _Olivette_ saved her tide into the outer basin of Le Havre. She was just in time to enter the lock gates of the Bassin de l'Eure before they were closed on the falling tide. Meanwhile, the _Acacis_ had berthed in the Bassin Vauban.

"More floating docks!" exclaimed Flemming ruefully, as he surveyed the stagnant water. "How long do we stop here, sir, please?"

"Only until we've handed back the man belonging to the _Acacis_, and shown our papers to the authorities," replied Mr. Armitage. "We are going to bring up in the Tancarville Canal to-night."

"Canal, sir?" echoed Roche. "I thought we were going up the River Seine."

"So we are, Dick," replied the Scoutmaster. "This canal, however, saves us a dangerous bit of navigation. The estuary of the Seine is full of shifting sandbanks, and if we did happen to get aground, the _Olivette_ would stand a great risk of becoming a total loss. There have been numerous instances of quite large vessels grounding in the estuary and heeling over and filling. You see the bore complicates matters."

"The bore, sir?" exclaimed Flemming.

"Yes, you'll make its acquaintance before very long," replied Mr. Armitage. "We'll get the tail end of it several times before we reach Rouen."

Just then the skipper of the _Acacis_ arrived with a couple of "hands" to take the absent member of the crew back to the ship.

"Who was the Sea Scout who took to the ditch?" inquired the Old Man, after he had expressed his warmest thanks for the rescue and care of the man who had fallen overboard. "Wasn't much, eh? I don't know about that. I call it pretty plucky. I mean to report the circumstance to the Royal Humane Society when I get back--which may be in a couple of months or more. On this job one never knows when the trip's going to end."

The next caller was a Port official. To him Mr. Armitage handed a document, signed by the French Minister responsible for the splendidly organized inland waterways of the Republic. The paper was a permit for the _Olivette_ to make use of the Tancarville Canal, and it was expressly stated that the passage through the locks was free.

"This is one of the things they do better in France," observed Mr. Armitage. "Not only do they provide a safe means of avoiding the dangerous estuary, but they grant us a free passage. If the canals of England were half as well looked after as they are on this side of the Channel----"

By six o'clock in the afternoon the _Olivette_ had traversed four and a half kilometres of the canal, and had tied up for the night close to a "cut" leading to the town of Harfleur.

"We must see the sights of Harfleur," declared Mr. Armitage. "It is only a little town, but it's full of interest. You remember, perhaps, how it was besieged and captured by Henry V before he won the Battle of Agincourt."

Accordingly the dinghy was launched and manned. It was the first time the little craft had been used since the _Olivette_ left Keyhaven, and even then, it was not absolutely necessary. The Sea Scouts could have landed and walked along the canal bank.

It was dark by the time they returned. Tom Boldrigg had lighted the cabin lamps, and had prepared supper. Eagerly, the hungry lads sat down to enjoy what promised to be an appetizing repast, but their anticipated pleasure failed in its realization.

The _Olivette_ was invaded. Thousands of little green flies swarmed everywhere. The lamp glasses were thick with them; so much so, that in spite of frequent cleaning, the light was almost entirely obscured by the writhing insects. These covered the table, settled on the food and in the hot cocoa. In the circumstances, making a meal was out of the question.

"It's the light that does it," declared Boldrigg. "Put out the light an' the midges'll sheer off."

This suggestion was acted upon. In addition, the _Olivette's_ riding lamp was hoisted to attract the flies. The result justified the experiment. As if by magic, the insects disappeared, leaving hundreds of small corpses in the cabin. Hungry, the crew had to make a sorry meal in the darkness, munching hard biscuits and trusting to luck that they were not swallowing dead flies; and in darkness, too, they sought their bunks.

At six the following morning, the "hands" were roused in true nautical style. It was a glorious morning, and the waters of the canal looked temptingly clean and fresh. Soon all the crew were swimming about, and so thoroughly did they enjoy it, that Mr. Armitage had difficulty in getting them to come out of the water.

Before breakfast could be served, Roche and Flemming had to walk into Harfleur to obtain fresh provisions, for everything of an edible nature on board had been spoiled by the flies.

While the two Sea Scouts were away on their errand the rest cleaned ship thoroughly, all hands hoping that a repetition of the visitation would not occur on the following night.

In about an hour Roche and Flemming returned, having had a successful marketing, in spite of the language difficulty. Their French was unintelligible to the Harfleur shopkeepers, and the _patois_ of the latter equally so to the Sea Scouts, but by means of disjointed words and dumb show, Flemming and Roche had bought a goodly supply of necessaries.

"Another eleven miles before we're through the canal, lads," announced Mr. Armitage as the _Olivette_ prepared to get under way. "You'll have to cut out a couple of cylinders, Roche, as we did in the Thames. Five miles an hour is the speed limit here."

It was not a case of plain seamanship. The traffic on the canal was heavy, comprising small steamships and barges. Most of the latter were motor-propelled, but several were towed by steam-tugs, often three abreast in a string. More than once the _Olivette's_ stout rubbing-strake saved her from serious damage as the tail end of a line of barges took a sheer and swung nearly across the wide canal.

Kilometre after kilometre was passed, but the long, perfectly straight canal seemed to have no ending, until early in the afternoon the _Olivette_ entered the Tancarville Lock, through which she had to pass to gain the River Seine.

"We've a hot tide against us, sir," remarked Peter when the boat was breasting the swift current of the river. "Oughtn't we to bring up until the flood sets in?"

"No," replied Mr. Armitage. "We must push on and try and reach Quillebeuf before then."

Stratton looked puzzled. Knowing the Scoutmaster's usual keenness in "working the tides", it seemed strange that he should show anxiety to proceed against a strong current; while, by waiting a few hours, the _Olivette_ could easily make up for lost time by taking advantage of the flood tide.

"We have the bore to take into consideration," was Mr. Armitage's enigmatical answer. "Let her all out, Flemming, and keep within easy distance of the reversing-lever; it may be wanted in a hurry."

It took nearly an hour to cover the five and a half miles to Quillebeuf, but the Sea Scouts rather enjoyed the unusual scenery; Those not on duty were basking on deck until Mr. Armitage told them to go below.

As the lads scrambled down the iron ladder into the well, they heard a faint distant rumble.

"Thunder, by Jove!" exclaimed Warkworth.

In a few minutes the roar increased. It certainly was not thunder. The Sea Scouts looked at each other inquiringly.

They observed, also, that there was great activity on board the small boats at Quillebeuf. Men were busy casting off moorings and rowing the little craft into the centre of the stream.

Suddenly round a bend in the river, down-stream, a huge wall of water was seen approaching at a furious rate and breaking heavily against both banks. To the lads this moving mass appeared to be quite twenty feet high, but in reality it was about one third that height.

It was the bore, or "La Barre"--a tidal wave caused by the flood tide forcing its way into the funnel-shaped estuary and overwhelming the ebb.

"Hang on to something, all hands!" shouted Mr. Armitage. "Hard-a-starboard, Peter."

Round swung the _Olivette_ until her bows pointed down-stream.

"Easy ahead!" was the next order.

Straight for the centre of the bow-shaped wall of water the staunch little craft headed. Into it she plunged, thrusting her bluff snout deep into the wave. A foaming torrent swept the foredeck, and, breaking against the wheel-house, flew high in the air in a cloud of spray.

For a few seconds it seemed as if the _Olivette_ were standing on her heel. Her momentum was temporarily stopped. Somewhere below, the sound audible above the roar of the bore, came the crash of broken glass. Then with a dizzy, disconcerting movement the boat slid down the reverse side of the liquid wall into the agitated water beyond.

"There's another one, sir!" exclaimed Peter as soon as the moisture on the wheel-house windows cleared sufficiently to enable him to see ahead.

Three more times in quick succession the _Olivette_ charged moving walls of roaring surf-crested water; then she found herself in a turmoil of dangerous waves, steep, irregular, and silent as they surged onwards in the wake of the bore. In a few moments the agitation died away; the _Olivette_ ported helm, and, with a six-knot tide to aid her on her way, progressed rapidly up-stream.

"Jolly exciting, eh, what?" exclaimed Peter. "Does that happen twice every day, sir? If so, what do we do when there's a bore at night?"

"We'll certainly have a repetition of it," replied Mr. Armitage, "but I hope we'll be in fairly sheltered water to-night. We've struck it at rather an awkward time, as we're right on the top of the spring tides. At neaps the bore is hardly noticeable."

Before the tide changed again the _Olivette_ had passed Caudebec and followed the wide and sharp curve that the Seine makes round the forest of Jumièges, and brought up off the little town of Duclair.

"We won't feel much of the bore here," said Mr. Armitage, when the _Olivette_ had picked up a set of moorings lent by a courteous Frenchman. "It will be safe to leave the boat; so who's for the shore? A jolly good walk will do us good. Are you coming with us, Tom?"

Old Boldrigg expressed his readiness to go. Hitherto he had spent most of his time on board while the _Olivette_ was in port.

"And what did you think of the bore, Mr. Boldrigg?" asked Peter, while the old seaman was changing into "shore rig".

"Not much, by a long chalk, Master Peter," was the reply. "When I saw that there a-bearing down on us, I wished I was properly afloat--plenty of sea-room, you'll understand. Rivers is all very well, but give me the deep sea--it's safer."