CHAPTER VIII

The Stowaway

Although all on board were by this time well acquainted with the Isle of Wight coast, none of the "watch below" had any inclination to "turn in". The fact that they were actually on a voyage of a different nature from any they had previously undertaken was sufficient to keep all hands on deck.

Mr. Armitage offered no protest. He knew from experience that it was next to impossible to get the thoroughly excited youngsters to rest and sleep. With old Boldrigg it was another matter. He had volunteered to share Mr. Armitage's "trick", and he was too much of an old salt to stay on deck when there was an opportunity of a "caulk" below.

Before the _Olivette_ was abreast of Hurst High Light, Tom Boldrigg had descended to the fo'c'sle, where he immediately "got busy" by slinging his hammock. Just as he was about to turn in, a faint scuffling attracted his attention.

"Rats aboard this hooker," he soliloquized. "I'd best trice up my boots and gear clear of the deck or the blighters'll be nibbling 'em come morning."

With this resolve, Tom Boldrigg began to collect his "duds", when he heard a decided sneeze.

"Stowaway, eh?" he exclaimed. "Now, then, my hearty, whoever you be, out you come!"

Boldrigg waited for about half a minute, then, having decided that the stowaway was hiding in the tapering part of the fo'c'sle abaft the chain-locker, began to investigate in that direction.

Expecting to find a human being, he was considerably surprised when a moist tongue licked his hand.

"Why, it's a dog!" he exclaimed. "It's Bruin."

Realizing that the need for his concealment was over, Bruin emerged from his retreat, wagging his stumpy tail, but, contrary to custom, the animal made no attempt to bark.

"'Ere's a proper lash-up," soliloquized the old man. "That dog can't come along with us. That's a dead cert. But what's to be done with him? I'd best inform Master Stratton."

Peter's amazement at the news was too great for words. He could give no satisfactory explanation as to how his pet had escaped from the shed, evaded the crew, and succeeded in getting on board the _Olivette_ unperceived. Obviously Bruin could not have leapt from the water on to the boat's deck.

"He must have pulled himself up by the cable," suggested Roche. "Plucky little beggar. Let's take him along. No one will be any the wiser. We can smuggle him ashore."

It was a tempting suggestion. As Roche had said, it would be a comparatively easy matter to land Bruin in the almost unfrequented Keyhaven on their return, but----

"Can't be done," decided Peter. "For one thing, it's against the regulations; for another, it wouldn't be fair to other dog-owners. Suppose Bruin did get in contact with a French dog infected with rabies? We'll have to put back and land him."

"It's bad luck to put back, sir," declared Tom Boldrigg. "Ask any sailorman and he'll tell you. Times I've been on board a ship that's put back for something or other, and, sure as fate, there's been a run of bad luck."

It was certainly a bit of a dilemma. The Sea Scouts were reluctant to turn back now that they had started fairly upon the voyage; but, on the other hand, they knew that it was impossible to proceed with Bruin on board.

"I'll report to Mr. Armitage," declared the Patrol Leader.

But Bruin had already done so. Scratching with his fore paws, he succeeded in pushing open the door of the after cabin, where Mr. Armitage had retired to consult his charts and nautical books.

"What does this mean, Peter?" in a tone of marked disapproval. "Smuggling your dog on board at this time is a very serious matter."

"But I didn't smuggle him, sir," protested Stratton. "He found his way on board. None of us knew until Mr. Boldrigg found him in the forepeak."

"You locked him up at home?"

"Yes, sir. I cannot understand how he got loose. I suppose we must turn back."

Mr. Armitage climbed the iron ladder out of the cockpit and glanced shorewards. Hurst Castle and the Hampshire shore were now a couple of miles astern. Broad on the port beam lay Totland Bay and the cliffs of the western end of the Isle of Wight. Ahead, and slightly on the port bow, were the Needles.

"No," he replied after a brief survey. "Unless I'm much mistaken we won't have to retrace our course. Do you see that craft coming out of Alum Bay, Peter? I rather fancy she belongs to the Totland Sea Scouts."

The Patrol Leader focused his binoculars upon the little craft--an ex-service whaler with a dipping foresail and gaff mainsail. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "There's Mr. Mostyn, their Scoutmaster, in the stern-sheets."

"That's good enough, then," continued Mr. Armitage. "Run alongside and get them to take Bruin ashore. If they've no particular object in view, they will, I feel sure, land him on Milford beach for us."

The _Olivette's_ course was altered in order to intercept the whaler. When within a couple of hundred yards of the Totland Sea Scouts, Hepburn, holding a pair of hand-flags, stood erect upon the coach-roof.

It was not long before the Totland lads acknowledged the preparatory sign, and Alan proceeded to spell out a message, asking them if they would do a real good turn.

The whaler's canvas was lowered and the boat lost way, waiting for the _Olivette_ to range up alongside.

Briefly Mr. Armitage explained the nature of his request.

"Certainly," replied Mr. Mostyn. "We're just out for a practice spin, and we may as well run across to Milford as anywhere. Your dog will find his way home from there, I hope? So you're off across Channel? My word, Armitage, your lads are lucky fellows."

Bruin was obviously most reluctant to part company with the _Olivette_. Peter had to speak sternly to his pet, and even then the animal refused to enter the whaler.

There was no help for it. Knowing that Bruin would attempt to jump overboard from the whaler and swim after the _Olivette_, Stratton and Flemming lashed the dog's paws together and tied a bandage over his eyes. Then, in this helpless condition Bruin was passed over the side and placed in the stern-sheets of the Totland Sea Scouts' boat.

"Good-bye and good luck!" shouted Scoutmaster Mostyn, as the two craft drew off from one another. "We'll take care of your mascot, and see him safely ashore at Milford."

Amidst an exchange of farewells the whaler rehoisted her canvas, and, close hauled on the port tack, headed for the Hampshire shore, while the _Olivette_, increasing speed to eight knots, resumed her interrupted voyage.