CHAPTER V

Trapped by the Tide

It was one of those ideal days for cruising under power. The sea was smooth, visibility good, with the sun shining brightly overhead. The rugged coast, never more than a mile away on the port hand, presented an ever changing panoramic view of the picturesque Dorset coast.

With Woodleigh at the helm and Roche giving an occasional look at the smoothly-running motor, the rest of the crew knew that they had nothing to worry about. Slipping off their jerseys, they lay upon the deck, basking in the glorious sunshine, too happy and contented even to indulge in conversation beyond a few words of appreciative admiration or the superb view.

"Port helm a couple of points, Woodleigh," ordered the Patrol Leader, after consulting the chart. "We'll have to give Kimmeridge Ledges a wide berth."

Mr. Armitage, hearing the caution, nodded his head approvingly. Stratton had acted upon his own initiative in spite of being a stranger to this part of the coast. The Scoutmaster had placed the responsibility upon the lad's shoulders, and Peter had shown that the trust had not been accepted lightly.

"Isn't that where the _Treveal_ was wrecked two winters ago, sir?" asked Flemming.

"Yes," replied Mr. Armitage, pointing shorewards. "About there. Every vestige of the vessel has disappeared by this time. It's a bad piece of coast, with parallel reefs extending seawards. A vessel doesn't stand a dog's chance if she gets held up on those ledges."

"Why don't they have a lighthouse?" asked Hepburn. "One on St. Alban's Head would warn seamen."

"I don't know," replied Mr. Armitage. "If there had been one where you suggest, Alan, it would have saved a good many precious lives. You see, Anvil Point Lighthouse, which is hidden by St. Alban's Head, is useless to a ship that is driven too close inshore. Now then, you fellows, unless you want a ducking, you'd better come aft. We're nearing the Race."

Less than half a mile ahead the otherwise smooth sea was agitated with a patch of white-crested breakers extending seawards for more than a couple of miles. Even at that distance the waves looked decidedly dangerous.

"We've got to go through that, sir?" asked Warkworth. "Isn't there any way to avoid it?"

"By keeping a tremendous way out," replied the Scoutmaster. "It's fairly rough, but I've known it decidedly worse. Woodleigh."

"Sir?"

"Steer straight for the headland now. There's plenty of water. We shall probably miss a lot of the race by keeping close to the cliff--twenty yards will be near enough."

"What causes a race, sir?" asked the Tenderfoot.

"The tide surging over a submerged ledge," replied Mr. Armitage. "It's deep water on both sides of the headland and only a few fathoms over the rocks extending seawards from it. Now, you fellows, all hands into the well; we don't want anyone slung overboard into the ditch."

"The dinghy, sir?" inquired Flemming.

"She won't hurt. Her painter's sound," replied the Scoutmaster. "There's enough scope to prevent her overrunning us and smashing her bows under our counter."

In another minute the _Olivette_ was within the influence of the race. At first she began to yaw in spite of the helmsman's efforts to keep her on her course. It seemed as if a giant hand was gripping the boat's keel and playfully shaking the hull.

Then, almost without warning, a sea poured over the starboard quarter. Much of the water was checked by the coaming, but a considerable quantity found its way below, liberally besprinkling the crew. Almost immediately after, another cataract poured in over the port quarter. For a moment it felt as if the _Olivette_ were dropping vertically, then another sea, slapping viciously against her starboard bow, threw her head off a good four points.

The helmsman ported helm to meet the deflection, but for some seconds the vessel refused to answer. Almost the whole of the rudder was out of water, while the propeller was racing madly in the air.

The passage through the race was of short duration, but it was fairly strenuous while it lasted. Then, as suddenly as she had entered the turmoil, the _Olivette_ glided into practically calm water.

"Ugh!" ejaculated Flemming, shaking the water from his clothes. "I don't like races; give me a straightforward heavy sea any old day. I expected the old boat to break her back."

"It is a disconcerting motion, I admit," said Mr. Armitage. "The waves are so hollow that the boat was not evenly supported. But it would take more than that to break her back, Eric."

Dancing Ledge and Anvil Point were quickly passed. The crew were deeply interested in the famous Tilly Whim Caves, where for centuries smugglers and wreckers were in almost indisputable possession. Then the lads had a clear view of the granite "globe", although they were a bit disappointed at its size.

"It's not much bigger than a football," declared Woodleigh.

"Isn't it?" remarked Mr. Armitage drily. "You wouldn't care to have to kick it, Will. You've lost your sense of proportion. The magnitude of the cliffs deceives you. See a buoy ahead?"

"On our starboard bow, sir."

"Then keep it well to port. That marks the tail of Peveril Ledge. You'll see Swanage opening out in a minute or so."

A few miles farther on and the granite cliffs gave place to frowning walls of glistening white chalk, terminating in the well-known pinnacle of Old Harry.

"We're getting into familiar waters now," said the Scoutmaster. "We were close--rather too close--to that point when we rescued the S.S. _Pent-y-coote_."

"But we never saw the land," added Flemming.

"No; but we might have hit it," remarked Mr. Armitage gravely. "Providence was kind to us that day. Hello, Peter what is interesting you--the Parson's Barn?"

The Patrol Leader was gazing landwards towards a large cave close to Old Harry.

"There are some people waving to us, sir," he replied.

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Armitage sharply; then raising his binoculars he brought them to bear upon the spot indicated by the Patrol Leader. "Friends of yours, Peter?" inquired Flemming facetiously. The Scoutmaster returned his binoculars to their case.

"Stand in a bit," he ordered. "There's plenty of water. Slow her down, Roche, and stand by. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, those people are cut off by the tide."

The _Olivette_ approached at half speed to within a cable's length of the shore. Mr Armitage was correct in his surmise, for, standing on a narrow strip of beach were two men and two girls. The men were barefooted, as if they had vainly attempted to wade past the foot of the cliffs. Already the tide was rising rapidly, and in less than an hour their refuge would be invaded by the sea.

"Away dinghy's crew!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Be careful how you land. There's a ground swell running."

The _Olivette_ lost way. The dinghy was hauled alongside, and into her jumped Stratton and Flemming, each manning an oar.

Proceeding cautiously, they allowed the dinghy's forefoot to ground lightly on the pebbly beach. Flemming, with an oar, kept the stern end on to the waves, while the Patrol Leader held on to the bows.

"Think we'll manage the lot, Peter?" asked Flemming in a low voice. "Four of them?"

"I think so," replied the Patrol Leader.

"Now, please," he added, raising his voice. "As sharp as you can. We're bumping a bit."

It was a tricky operation, embarking the rescued persons, for none of them seemed at home in a small boat.

"Sit down, please," ordered Stratton firmly. "You'll be quite all right if you keep still. Ready, Eric? Right-o, push off."

By the united efforts of the two Sea Scouts the dinghy was backed clear of the beach. Then, when clear of the swell, the boat was turned until her bow pointed seaward.

"Give way together!" exclaimed Peter.

Awkwardly the four trippers climbed out of the dinghy upon the _Olivette's_ deck, whence they were assisted into the well.

"Rather an experience, isn't it?" remarked Mr. Armitage. "Experience?" echoed one of the men bitterly. "It was a disgraceful bit of work. A boatman told us we could walk right round the point. We could--but we couldn't get back. He never said a word about the tide rising."

"And you never thought to ask," mused the Scoutmaster. "There's not much harm done," he added aloud. "We'll land you in half an hour. Are you staying at Swanage?"

"No, at Bournemouth," replied one of the girls, who, now that the danger was over, showed more spirit than either of her male companions.

"So much the better, then," observed Mr. Armitage. "We can land you without going out of our course."

"We are awfully grateful," said the girl.

"And we are glad to be able to do you a good turn," rejoined Mr. Armitage. "That's where Sea Scouts come in handy."