CHAPTER XV

All Hands to the Pumps

Leaving the Tenderfoot at the helm, Flemming leapt into the well and thence into the engine-room.

"It must have been that biff when the barge fouled us!" he exclaimed. "Look! the floor-boards are awash!"

Eric went to the semi-rotary bilge-pump and began working the lever desperately. Meanwhile Rayburn had shouted for "Easy ahead."

The moment Roche put the engine in gear the _Olivette_ "squatted", as she always did when under way; in other words, her bows rose and her stern dipped correspondingly. The result was that a lot of water that had found its way into the boat ran aft and the flywheel no longer gave an aquatic display, but subsequent examination found that the level of the bilge-water rose nearly six inches above the floor of the after-cabin.

Flemming kept on pumping for nearly twenty minutes, but the semi-rotary failed to "suck air". It seemed positive that the pump was unable to cope with the inflow of water.

"Where are we now?" he asked breathlessly.

Roche passed the question on to Phil Rayburn.

"Nearly there," replied the Tenderfoot. "It's slow work against the stream."

"We'll have to beach her, I'm afraid," said Flemming.

"No good doing that now," objected Roche; "she'd fill on the rising tide. Besides, if there's much of a bore here, she'd be damaged still more. You stand by here, old thing, and I'll give you a spell at the pump."

"We're nearly there," announced the Tenderfoot. "Who's going to pick up the moorings?"

Leaving Flemming at the reversing-lever, Roche "knocked off" pumping and went on deck. Boat-hook in hand, he waited to make a grasp at the mooring-buoy, to which was attached the water-logged planks and timbers of what had been a smart, serviceable dinghy.

"I bet that kid makes a bog of it," soliloquized Roche, who knew from personal experience how easy it is to blunder in picking up moorings.

But his fears were groundless. With a confidence inspired by previous success, Phil brought the _Olivette_ to a standstill within a couple of feet of the mooring-buoy.

"Got it!" yelled Dick as he fished the cork float on board and took a turn round the bitts with the chain-bridle.

"Finished with the engines," shouted the Tenderfoot.

Flemming cut off the ignition. The motor clanked into a state of somnolence; then, having turned off the feed to the carburetter, Eric devoted his attention to the bilge-pump once more.

Presently Roche came below.

"There's not a sign of the others," he announced. "What on earth can have happened to them, I wonder? It's nearly half-past one."

He caught sight of Rayburn, who was stifling a yawn.

"You did jolly well, Phil!" he exclaimed. "We would have been in a pretty kettle of fish if you hadn't been here. But you're tired. How about turning in?"

"I'm not tired, really," protested the Tenderfoot. "I'll take a turn at the pump if you like."

"Right-o," agreed Dick. "We may have to have spells at it all night; but I think I'll try to find out where it's coming in and have a go at stopping it."

Switching on his electric torch, Roche squeezed through the small doorway between the engine-room and the forepeak. He could hear an ominous trickle coming from the neighbourhood of the chain-locker.

Investigations resulted in the discovery that the _Olivette's_ bows had been badly damaged in spite of the partial protection afforded by the "pudding" fender. Several planks had been started on either side of the stem, and although most of the damage was above water-line, there was a considerable leak where a seam or two had burst.

Procuring some grease and cotton-waste, Dick proceeded to caulk the faulty seams, but his efforts in that direction were rewarded with poor success. It was impracticable to use any degree of force, because the fastenings of the planks were in such a weak state that the planks themselves began to give; and without ramming the caulking well home, the cotton-waste would not remain in position.

"Better let well alone," decided Roche. "It's jolly tedious work manning the pump, but we'll keep the old hooker afloat."

Having reported the result of his investigations, Roche proposed that each of the three Sea Scouts should take fifteen-minute tricks at the pump.

"That will give each of us half-an-hour spells," he added. "One or both of the others can stop on deck to keep a look-out for the liberty men."

"P'r'aps they are not 'liberty men' any longer," remarked Flemming. "It's jolly rummy that they haven't shown up before this. Right-o, Dick; I'll take on with the pumping."

Roche and the Tenderfoot went on deck. The tide was still ebbing. The wind had dropped, and hardly a sound disturbed the stillness of the night except the ripple of the water against the _Olivette's_ bows, and the monotonous chug-chug of the semi-rotary pump.

A steamer's navigation lights appeared up-stream. She was heading towards the anchored _Olivette_. Rayburn glanced at his companion.

"It's all right," said Dick reassuringly. "She's coming round a bend; that's why she appears end on. She'll starboard her helm in half a tick."

But the vessel held on until even Roche began to think that there would be a collision. He glanced aloft to make sure that the _Olivette's_ riding-lamp was burning brightly.

The steamer reversed engines, and lost way within twenty yards of the _Olivette_. A hoarse voice hailed in an unintelligible patois. Dick caught but two words, "_gabare_" and "_abandonnée_".

"_A l'ancre.... A l'autre côté.... Sept kilomètres en bas_," replied Roche, guessing that the strange craft was the tug they had seen earlier in the night, and that, having missed one of her charges, had returned in search of the derelict barge.

To his no small satisfaction, Roche found that his halting reply was understood, for, with a "_Merci beaucoup, m'sieu_", the skipper of the tug rang for full speed ahead.

Barely was the steamboat out of sight when the _Olivette_ began to rock violently. It was not the swell of the tug that had caused the commotion; it was the turn of the tide and the tail-end of the bore in a succession of waves of about four feet in height.

The erratic rolling and pitching alarmed Flemming considerably, for the water in the bilges gushed between the floor-boards and swirled ankle-deep from side to side.

"She's leaking fast," he shouted.

Roche went below. Already the water was subsiding into the bilges, but it was evident that, in spite of continuous work at the pump, the leak was not being kept under.

"It'll be as much as we can do to keep going till daylight," declared Flemming as he "handed over" to his chum. "The best thing we can do is to get a bucket going. I'll bale, and pass the bucket up to Phil for him to sling overboard."

"Good idea," agreed Roche, turning up his sleeves and grasping the handle of the pump. "We'll keep her afloat, old thing, even if it snows ink."