Quick to discover errors in what his chief had referred to as the "lay Press", Mason noticed that the Golden Vanity was wrongly described as a steam ship. It so happened that a year or so previously he had had to write a description of her as one of the few surviving full-rigged sailing ships.
Then the name "Ensor" riveted his attention. It was by no means a common surname. He had never before come across it until Mr. Harrison mentioned it that very day, as that of one of the amateur crew of the Arran Dhu.
"Arran Dhu! I wonder if the Master of the Denham made a mistake in reading the signal. In ordinary circumstances the Arundel's name would be received as a 'number'," thought Mason. "Probably the Arran Dhu hadn't a number, and her name had to be spelt out. A careless signalman, jumping at conclusions, might well write down Arundel for Arran Dhu. The message also says 'Ensor Wood washed overboard' but it also stated emphatically 'All hands saved'."
Working on this supposition, Mason wrestled with the problem during the rest of his journey to the Dorset seaport.
Arriving at Poole he did not immediately make for Mr. Ensor's house, but hurried to the Harbour Master's office. Here that obliging official let him see a copy of the International Code of Signals.
He commenced by translating "Woodward" into code letters. "Wood" he found to be ZHN; "ward" resolved itself into YUF.
Next he looked up the phrase "Washed overboard". To his intense satisfaction this was represented by the letters YUR.
"It's as simple as daylight," thought Mason. "The Denham's signalman mistook F for R. It's true they aren't very like each other, but both are largely made up of red bunting. 'Tany rate I'll take the responsibility of informing Mr. Ensor that his son and young Woodward are safe."
From the Harbour Master he obtained directions to find the solicitor's premises—a somewhat old-fashioned house not far from the railway station. But to his disappointment the offices were closed for the day. Mr. Ensor lived at Parkstone, two miles or so away.
Mr. Ensor had just finished dinner when The Yachtsman's Fortnightly representative was announced. Mason had a bit of a surprise when the solicitor entered the study. Invariably he pictured men of that profession as short, dark-featured men, with hatchet features and long pointed noses. Geoff's father was quite the opposite—tall, burly, fair-complexioned, and wearing a thick crop of curly flaxen hair.
"Well, Mr. Mason, what do you want to see me about?"
"Do you happen to know where your son Geoffrey is?" asked Mason.
Geoff's father shook his head.
"Haven't an earthly. The young beggar hasn't written. Not that I expected to hear from him. He's away yachting somewhere. Why are you interested?"
Mason told him. Mr. Ensor listened without comment till the narrative came to an end.
"What is the Golden Vanity, do you know?" he asked.
"A full rigged ship."
"H'm, then Master Geoff is probably peeling potatoes or washing up in the cook's galley," commented Mr. Ensor feelingly. "Do him worlds of good, and will knock all those ideas of going to sea as a profession out of his head. It looks as if the practice will be run by Ensor & Son after all. I'll write to Mr. Woodward and let him know. Thanks awfully for the trouble you've taken, Mr. Mason."
"Not at all, sir," replied the Pressman.
"May I offer you any refreshment?"
Mason shook his head.
"Thanks no; I must catch the first train back to London."
On the first stroke of midnight, Mason dashed into his chief's sanctum. He had delivered the goods! The Yachtsman's Fortnightly had secured the biggest scoop in its career.
CHAPTER XII. Away Aloft
"Away aloft!"
The rousing order stirred Bernard and Geoff to the depths of their being. For the first time since they had set foot on the snowy planks of the good ship Golden Vanity they were to take an active part in imparting more speed to this superb specimen of naval architecture.
The hitherto strong breeze had blown itself out. As the Golden Vanity gained the lower latitudes the heat of the sun was no longer tempered by speeding clouds. Overhead that orb shone in an unbroken vault of brilliant blue. Deep-blue, too, was the sea, save for the snow-white flecks on the crest of the waves. Now within the influence of the Trades the ship could clap on all sail and carry it for days together without risk of sudden and unexpected changes in the climatic conditions.
The chums were not in entire ignorance of the task demanded of them. With the cadets of the watch they had been given instruction by the Chief on the principles of making, reefing, and stowing canvas. For this purpose a model mast, with yards, sails, and rigging complete, was employed.
Now was the time to put theoretical knowledge to a practical test. It was Bernard and Geoff's equivalent to the soldier's ordeal of "going over the top".
Every man of the Watch had his particular duty. The "hands" were told off to the fore- and main-masts, some to go aloft, others to man sheets and braces. The cadets' part of the manoeuvre was the management of the mizzen-sails. In their case the order was to shake out reefs in upper and lower topsails and set mizzen t'gallant and royal.
The chums had little or no time to think what they were doing. Going aloft was carried out in a wild sort of scramble that reminded them of a school "scrum". They found themselves more or less in the middle of an ascending stream of youthful humanity. The feet of the cadets preceding them seemed only a matter of a few inches from their heads, while the arms of those following enveloped their legs. In this compact mass all sense of dizziness was absent. Even the weather shrouds seemed as rigid as a wooden ladder under the combined weight of the climbers.
Presently the speed of the ascent became slightly retarded. Not only were the ratlines growing smaller in width as the shrouds contracted towards the trestle trees—the futtock-shrouds tended to delay progress. It was no longer a case of three abreast or even two. The ascent had resolved itself into a sort of "follow-my-leader" affair.
Those futtock-shrouds gave Geoff a bit of a shock. For a moment he hesitated. Hitherto he had been climbing a sort of inclined ladder. It was like scaling the side of a steep hill. But now he had to climb on the under side of a short ladder inclined outwards.
"Look alive there!" shouted someone below him.
Others had essayed the feat before him. What they could do he must. Raising his eyes Geoff saw young Merrifield, the junior cadet, just disappearing from sight over the edge of the top. He had done the trick. If Merrifield, smaller and weaker than Geoff, had swarmed up those futtock-shrouds the feat was not so hazardous as it looked.
All the same it gave Geoff a bad twenty seconds or so before he too swung himself on to the amazingly wide mizzen-top. Viewed from the deck the platform looked hardly large enough for two men to find a foothold. Actually six cadets were already there and still there was room. Others were making their way still higher; more were pressing up from below, swarming over lee and weather futtock-shrouds.