The inevitable result was that the two men—honest Cornish yacht hands—refused point blank to remain on board and obtained their discharge forthwith. Gordon's cowardly behaviour became known to the Falmouth yacht hands, and the upshot was that Arran Dhu's owner found himself stranded.
Not that he wanted to risk his precious life in the open waters of the English Channel. In the Solent with a harbour under one's lee, no matter the direction of the wind, yachting in his opinion might be tolerable. Once he found someone willing to sail the boat to those sheltered waters, all would be well. If, on the other hand, the yacht were lost, he would more than recoup himself for his initial outlay.
So he hailed with intense satisfaction the chance that threw Bernard and Geoff in his way.
Not that he wanted them to lose their lives. He did not mind them risking their hides, however careful he was of his own. But, he consoled himself, if the yacht were lost, the crew could take to the dinghy, and would probably either make their way ashore or else get picked up by a passing vessel.
Like many ill-informed individuals, Gordon regarded "taking to the boat" as a matter of course. He did not stop to think that in nine cases out of ten, when a yacht sinks or is thrown ashore owing to the violence of the elements, her dinghy is already either swamped or stove-in.
Everything considered, Gordon had good reason to congratulate himself on being able to persuade the chums to attempt to sail the yacht round. He had saved the cost of professional labour; if an accident happened, he would not be liable under the Workmen's Compensation Act.
In short, he summed up the case as follows: either Arran Dhu would reach the Solent or she would not. If she did it would be a task economically carried out. If she did not, he would draw the insurance. An alternative proposition never occurred to him, and this is where Mr. Gordon, astute financier, made a serious miscalculation.
CHAPTER IV. A Night at Sea
For the rest of the afternoon the chums were busily engaged in preparing for the voyage. Gordon, having taken them on board and explained in glowing terms the sea-worthiness of Arran Dhu and the lavishness of her equipment, went ashore and took the first available train to London.
The lads' first task was to overhaul sails and running gear to find out where each rope led, and for what purpose it was intended.
"I reckon she's slow in stays," remarked Geoff. "She'll be a brute to handle if we have to beat out of here, but with plenty of sea-room——"
"Yes, sea-room's the thing!" ejaculated Bernard. "On a wind she'll sail herself. What do you say to getting under way to-night? The wind's sou'westerly. When does the tide serve?"
An inspection of the Nautical Almanac in conjunction with the chart showed that the first of the east-going stream commenced at a little after eight o'clock.
"Just the thing," agreed Geoff. "It will give us an opportunity to provision the ship. We'll listen to the weather forecast; if it's all right, we'll make a start at once."
They rowed ashore, made their way to the nearest provision shop, and bought enough tinned stuff to last them a month!
"Saves the fag of having to cook," explained Geoff. "Now, is there anything more we want?"
Bernard thought not. They retraced their way to where they had left the dinghy. Garge, his broad back propped against the stone wall, smiled benignly.
"Your'm off, I'll allow?" he inquired.
"Yes, this evening," replied Geoff. "Is she easy to handle?"
"Quiet as a lamb," asserted the man. "Wunnerful seaboat she be. I knowed 'er when Mr. Trefuses 'ad 'er. Lie-to? Sartain sure. The only thing wrong with that there 'ooker is 'er owner, an' I don't go much on 'im."
A certain sense of loyalty towards the absent Mr. Gordon who had so generously lent them the yacht restrained the chums from asking for further explanations.
They rowed off to the Arran Dhu, had a good meal ("You never know when you'll have the chance to get another," remarked Bernard philosophically), and awaited the hour fixed for their departure.
In plenty of time they stood by for the weather report. The Arran Dhu's radio equipment was installed with its aerial running from the starboard chain-plate up to the masthead and down to the corresponding chain-plate on the port side, whence it led to the set fixed to the for'ard bulkhead of the saloon. Thus the aerial could be kept in position while the yacht was under way. The so-called "earth" was merely a copper wire trailing overside into the water.
"'Winds sou'westerly, moderate to light. Further outlook: a period of fine sunny weather is likely to continue for some days.' Good enough!" declared Geoff. "Let's get sail on her!"
He gave a comprehensive glance round to reassure himself that all was snug below, and that there was nothing likely to go adrift when the yacht heeled. Then he followed his chum on deck.
Together they commenced to hoist the heavy mainsail.
"May as well reeve the reef-earrings," said Bernard. "They mightn't be wanted, but if they're there they're there! . . . A swig on the peak-halliards, old son! At that! Slack away the topping-lift. My word, that sail sets well! Nothing much to complain about there!"
Staysail and No. 2 jib were then hoisted. Leaving Geoff to tend the headsheets, Bernard went aft to the tiller.
"Head sails a-weather! Let go!" he shouted.
The Arran Dhu had been lying at moorings, thus doing away with the necessity of weighing and stowing anchor. Geoff, taking care that the buoy-rope was not foul of the bowsprit shrouds, cast off the mooring-chain. The yacht's head paid off. Her jib and staysail sheets were trimmed a-lee. Slowly she gathered way.
The voyage had begun.
For the next five minutes it was an anxious time for the youthful helmsman. They rapidly gathered an understanding of her "stiffness" and slowness.
In the early days of his youth, Bernard's somewhat didactic father had taken great pains to impress upon his son the paramount importance of doing one thing at a time and doing it well. This advice had been so often reiterated that it had become tedious. Bernard had tried, after a fashion, to live up to the precept, with the result that he was apt to be slow in his movements and painstaking in his methods.
Five minutes in charge of Arran Dhu knocked that precept into the limbo of shattered illusions. He had to be here, there, and everywhere. A pull on a sheet here; a leap to clear a kinked line there; then back to the tiller in order to put it hard down to prevent the yacht poking her bowsprithead through the shrouds of an anchored craft. Then the tiller had to be temporarily abandoned in order that the dinghy's painter might be shortened lest that hefty yet important object should foul the buoy of a large ketch.
As it was the Arran Dhu's boom-end missed the ketch's bowsprit by inches; and, having given the young helmsman cold shivers, she proceeded to do her best to get in irons, midway between a steam-yacht and a large motor-cruiser.
"Put your hellum down!" yelled a brass-bound man on the steam yacht. "Let 'er come abart!" shouted a Cockney hand on the motor-yacht.
Arran Dhu refused to answer. Absolutely in irons, she drifted on the now strong tideway, grazing past both craft with little more than a fender's breadth to spare.