CHAPTER XIV

The Derelict

It was six o'clock when the "liberty men" landed on the quay at Duclair. Roche, Flemming, and Tenderfoot Rayburn, who had volunteered to remain on board as watch-keepers, went off with the others in order to bring back the dinghy.

"We'll be back at sunset, or soon after," said Mr. Armitage when the party had been safely landed.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Roche. "We'll keep a look-out for you."

Returning on board, Roche made the dinghy fast, and hung a canvas bucket over the stern to prevent the little craft from bumping against the _Olivette's_ counter, as the wind was against the tide.

"Now we're all snug, Phil," exclaimed Roche. "I'm going on deck to write letters."

"So am I," added the Tenderfoot.

"Then we can post them when we go ashore for the other fellows," said Roche.

Having attended to their home epistles, the two Sea Scouts read books until it was nearly sunset.

"Lay the table in the after-cabin, Phil," said his companion "I'll start up the stove. We'll have a jolly good feed ready for them when they return. They'll be here in twenty minutes or half an hour."

An hour passed, and no sign of the returning "liberty men". Roche took the hard-boiling kettle off the stove, lit the cabin lamp, and went on deck.

It was now quite dark, except for a few lights from the houses ashore and the distant gleam of the Fanal St. Paul against the sombre outlines of the Forêt du Trait.

The Tenderfoot, on his own initiative, had trimmed, lighted, and hoisted the riding-light.

"That's the sort!" exclaimed Roche approvingly. "You're getting quite a smart sailorman. How's the tide? Why, it's ebbing and we've swung down-stream."

"What's happened to the others, I wonder?" asked Rayburn, whose notions of a foreign country included danger for man and beast.

"Lost their way, perhaps," replied Roche. "'Twouldn't be the first time a Scout has done that, by any means. We'll hear them hail us very soon."

"P'r'aps Hepburn's been run in again," suggested Flemming, "and the others are trying to bail him out."

He looked meditatively over the side, and added:

"My word, isn't the tide running hard; I wouldn't like to have to go overboard on a dark night like this."

The ebb was now running at a good four knots, the water gurgling past the sides of the _Olivette_ as she rode to her tautened mooring-bridle.

A tug, towing a train of barges, was laboriously creeping up-stream in an endeavour to make Rouen before morning. Farther down, the triple lights of a large steamer under way could be discerned rounding the bend abreast of Le Marais. Presently the red and green lights were extinguished. She had anchored for the night, preferring to negotiate the intricate channel by daylight.

"I'll get the dinghy alongside ready to go ashore," said Flemming. "She'll lie there quietly now we're head to wind."

"Don't forget to haul in the bucket," Roche reminded him, "or when we begin to row we'll be wondering what's wrong with the dinghy."

Eric brought the dinghy alongside on the starboard quarter and clambered on board.

"She'll do," he reported. "She's as quiet as a lamb. Wonder what those fellows are doing ashore? It's nearly midnight. You'd better turn in, Rayburn."

The Tenderfoot was about to go below, when he startled the others by exclaiming:

"What's that coming towards us?"

It was a heavily laden barge, drifting broadside on to the wind and tide. Already it was close upon the bows of the _Olivette_, its long, low-lying outlines grotesquely magnified in the darkness.

"She'll hit us!" shouted Roche. "Stand by and fend her off. Phil, put the helm hard over, and see if we can sheer clear of her."

Flemming and Roche ran for'ard, each with a boat-hook. They might as well have tried to stop an armoured car with a broomstick. Rayburn promptly put the helm hard over, but the scope of chain to which the _Olivette_ was riding was not sufficient to enable her to sheer out of the course of the derelict barge.

The next moment the impact came. It was a severe shock, although the _Olivette_ gave to the momentum of the barge. Round swung the latter under the irresistible strength of the tide, although her side was still grinding against the _Olivette's_ stem.

"Look to the dinghy!" shouted Roche, still pushing with the boat-hook with all his strength.

Flemming realized the danger. Dropping his boat-hook, he raced aft, dropped into the dinghy, and began to cast off the painter.

The rope--a new one--had swollen with the night dew. Before Eric could untie the stubborn clove-hitch, the barge, still swinging round, crashed heavily against the frail dinghy.

Nipped between the sides of the two larger craft, the dinghy was literally split asunder. Flemming barely contrived to jump upon the deck of the low-lying barge. A second or so later and he would have shared the fate of the dinghy.

Baffled by the darkness and by the fact that he was on a strange craft, Flemming attempted to run for'ard and regain the _Olivette_. Stumbling over a ring-bolt, he fell awkwardly upon the barge's waterways, and by the time he recovered himself the two craft had drifted apart.

He was marooned upon a derelict at the mercy of the swiftly running Seine.

It was a time of agonizing suspense for Dick Roche. He knew that his chum had gone to save the dinghy; he had heard the rending crash as the frail craft was nipped between the sides of the _Olivette_ and the barge.

A prey to the liveliest apprehension, Dick ran aft, encountering the Tenderfoot, who, having placed the helm amidships, had hurried from the wheel-house.

"Where's Eric?" shouted Roche. "He was in the dinghy."

"On board the barge," replied Phil; "I saw him jump for it."

Roche ran aft and shouted. By this time the derelict had drifted so far that she was a mere shadow in the darkness.

"Ahoy!" came a faint shout, barely audible against the down-wind.

Dick hailed again, but Flemming's reply could not be heard.

"We'll have to get him off the barge somehow, Phil," declared Roche. "We can't wait for the others, and I don't know how they'll get on board. Now, look here: do you think you can manage the helm if I start up the motor?"

"I'll do my best," replied the Tenderfoot resolutely.

"You can't do more," rejoined Roche encouragingly. "So let's get to work and get about it."

The first task was to bring the painter of the crashed and water-logged dinghy for'ard and make it fast to the mooring-buoy. Then Roche and the Tenderfoot fixed the sidelights and got the engine going--the last was a fairly easy task, since the cylinders were still warm.

"Now," exclaimed Roche breathlessly, "go for'ard and cast off. By the time you're back at the wheel we'll have drifted astern and clear of the buoy. You're skipper now, Phil. Keep your head, and shout your orders clearly, and you'll do all right."

Making his way for'ard, the Tenderfoot managed to unfasten the heavy mooring-chain. The buoy disappeared overboard with a mighty splash, and the _Olivette_, with her engine running free, dropped astern, her head paying off to leeward as she did so.

Back to the wheel-house the Tenderfoot hurried. It was not exactly a novel sensation to steer, but it was to realize that he was now solely responsible for the direction and safety of the boat.

"Ahead!" shouted Phil in a shrill voice.

The _Olivette_ quivered as Roche put in the clutch. Then, gathering way, she headed down-stream.

Roche kept her at "Easy ahead". With both hands resting on the top of the reversing-lever, he fixed his eyes upon the youthful helmsman. It was a daring experiment, but circumstances justified the risk. Flemming was in great danger, and that was sufficient reason.

Meanwhile the Tenderfoot had opened the for'ard windows of the wheel-house and was peering through the darkness. Nearly all the shore lights were now extinguished, but there were the lighthouses with their red and white lamps--those showing red being on the left, and the white on the right bank.

It took a great amount of careful handling to avoid the numerous boats anchored off Duclair. Beyond was the steamer that had brought up earlier in the evening.

The _Olivette_ swept past within fifty yards of her. Not a soul was visible on deck, so it was safe to assume that the derelict barge had drifted past her without colliding with that vessel--otherwise there would have been great commotion on board.

Rayburn was beginning to think that in the darkness he had overtaken the barge without sighting her, when he heard a faint shout, just audible above the noise of the motor. There was no mistaking that shout: it was one of the Patrol cries of the Milford Sea Scouts.

A hundred yards or so on the _Olivette's_ port bow was the barge, drifting broadside on to the current. Not so very far down-stream were three masthead lights, denoting that vessels were at anchor. Unless the derelict were promptly secured and towed out of the fairway there seemed no way of preventing the barge from crashing disastrously across the hawse of at least one of the three vessels.

"Stop!" ordered Phil, putting the helm over gently. "Touch astern."

In spite of his efforts the _Olivette_ bumped heavily against the side of the barge. In a trice Hemming jumped and gained the _Olivette's_ deck but not to stay. He too realized the danger of the heavily laden barge drifting upon the anchored ships. Picking up the bow-warp and taking a turn round the bitts, he jumped upon the deck of the barge and made the end of the warp secure to a bollard.

"Come on, you fellows," he shouted. "Bear a hand."

"Can't," replied Rayburn. "There are only two of us on board. Roche is at the motor and I at the wheel."

Making his way aft, Flemming took another warp on board, so that the _Olivette_ was secured alongside the derelict.

"All fast!" he shouted as he regained the _Olivette_.

"Easy ahead!" ordered Phil. The initial excitement over, he was now as cool as the proverbial cucumber.

Very gently Roche let the clutch in, throttling well down so that the strain on the two hawsers would be taken up gradually and evenly. A sudden jerk might result in both ropes carrying away, in which case the barge would be foul of the anchored vessels before she could be again secured.

By this time the look-out on board the nearmost of the stationary craft realized that something was amiss. He began hailing in French, keeping up a torrent of exclamations until the _Olivette_ and her tow were clear.

"What are we going to do with her?" asked Roche.

"Tow her clear of the fairway, I suppose," replied Flemming. "We can't stem this tide; that's a cert. She has an anchor on board, but it's too heavy for me to drop overboard single-handed, or I'd have done so long ago."

Slowly the _Olivette_ with her tow moved towards the right bank, then, starboarding helm, she only just held her own against the swift current.

"Keep her like that!" shouted Flemming to the helmsman. "Now, Dick; you can leave the motor for a brace of shakes. Come and bear a hand with the mud-hook. Mind where you tread, old son; the barge is bunged up with things to trip you up. I've had some."

Even with their united efforts the two Sea Scouts were only just able to topple the ponderous mass of iron over the bows. Then, having paid out twenty fathoms of cable, the lads cast off both warps and jumped on board their own craft.

Roche immediately made his way to the engine-room. The clutch had not slipped, and the engine was still running in neutral, but the sight that met his eyes took him completely by surprise and filled him with dismay. The heavy flywheel was throwing up showers of water, and the engine-room looked as if one of the fountains of Trafalgar Square had suddenly been transplanted into the confined space.

"I say, you fellows!" he shouted. "One of you come down here as sharp as you can. She's sprung a leak."