Part 23 (1/2)

Here Jack stepped n.o.bly into the breach.

”Perhaps the kid wouldn't object if I went with him,” he suggested.

”Not keen on it, you know, but----”

And so it came to pa.s.s that when Leslie coaxed his big brother the latter capitulated.

”But what if your fisherman pal declined to s.h.i.+p me with him?” he added.

”No fear,” replied Leslie. ”I'll make that all right; only don't tell him you're an officer.”

”Oh, for why?” enquired the sub.

”I don't know exactly,” was his brother's reply. ”Somehow I fancy Old Garge doesn't like naval officers.”

Wherein Leslie was correct. Years ago Skipper Cottenham had fallen foul of the lieutenant-in-charge of a revenue cutter, and the memory of the meeting still rankled.

After lunch Leslie made his way to the quay, returning in an hour's time with the information that Old Garge didn't object (he was not over anxious to avail himself of a supposed amateur's offer of a.s.sistance), and that the _Fidelity_ would cast off at seven o'clock that evening.

Clad in an old pair of serge trousers and a brown sweater, and carrying an oilskin coat that, despite the maker's guarantee, stuck tenaciously wherever it was folded, the sub accompanied his wildly-excited brother to the steps, where a boat was in readiness to convey them to the smack.

In the boat was a freckled, chubby-faced, flaxen-haired youngster of about thirteen, whom Leslie introduced to his brother as Tim, great-grandson of the owner and master of the registered fis.h.i.+ng-boat _Fidelity_.

”Where's the _Fidelity_ lying?” enquired the sub, after the youngster had sculled the heavy boat for nearly two hundred yards.

”Down Stakes,” was the mysterious reply. ”Us'll see her in a minute or so, when us gets round t'bend.”

Working the long single oar vigorously, and aided by the strong ebb tide, Tim quickly urged the heavy boat along.

”There he be,” he announced. ”Third in the row from here.”

Sefton looked in the direction indicated. The fis.h.i.+ng-fleet was already making preparations for a start. Most of the boats had their mainsails set. Two or three had already slipped moorings, and were gliding down the main channel under the lee of the wooded Brownsea Island.

With the practised eye of a true seaman, the sub realized that, in spite of her sombre garb of grey paint, mottled with tar marks, the _Fidelity_ was ”all a boat”.

With a sharp entry and fine run aft, noticeable despite the squat stern and heavy transom, the smack showed every promise of speed combined with stiffness. Built with a view of encountering the short steep seas of Poole Bar, she was typical of the weatherly boats that have justly earned a splendid reputation for seaworthiness.

”Evenin'!” was Old Garge's greeting. ”Come aboard. Look alive, Tim, an' make fast the boat's painter. Then do 'ee cast off. There's Bill Moggridge an' Peter Wilson under way already. Us mustn't let 'em get across t' Bar ahead of the _Fidelity_.”

Quickly, as the result of much practice, young Tim cast off the heavy mooring-chain from the bitts, and trimmed the head-sails. Heeling slightly to the light south-westerly breeze the smack gathered way, leaving hardly a ripple in her wake as she glided almost noiselessly through the calm water.

The sub revelled in the movement. Vividly it recalled long-past days in the _Britannia's_ cutters, racing in the landlocked estuary of the Dart.

Since then opportunities for fore-and-aft sailing had been few and far between. Contrasted with the terrific vibration of a swiftly moving destroyer, the gentle movement was peaceful and soothing.

A short spell of close-hauled work, as the smack tacked towards the entrance, was followed by a run, full and by, down the buoyed channel to the bar buoy. From the heights above Studland a stiff breeze swept down, causing the water to foam at the _Fidelity's_ sharp stem.

”That be good!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Old Garge. ”Us be overtakin' them,” and he nodded in the direction of the two boats that were still leading by less than a cable's length. ”Wind'll drop afore long, I's afraid.”

”It will go down with the sun,” said Sefton. ”But we'll get the first of the east-going tide outside.”

The skipper of the _Fidelity_ stared at his guest. Already he had come to the conclusion that the tall bronzed young fellow was no mere landlubber. The sub's deliberate p.r.o.nunciation of the word ”tackle”