Slowly and more slowly the Sea Bear moved into the little bay. There were rocks close ahead to port and starboard. On the starboard side they were already beginning to hide the mouth of the creek and the open sea beyond it. Another twenty yards and she would be ramming her bowsprit into more rocks above a narrow strip of curving beach.
“Any minute now,” said Captain Flint quietly.
Nobody breathed.
“Scrrrunch.”
The next second Captain Flint had left the tiller, was in the dinghy and rowing for the shore, Nancy paying out the warp as he rowed.
“Scrunch.”
“He’s got there,” exclaimed Titty.
They saw him step out of the dinghy, jerk it a foot or two up the beach, take out the anchor, stagger up the shore with it and bed it among the rocks.
“Haul in on the bow warp and make fast,” he shouted, and Nancy had it taut in a moment.
“Stem warp, John! Haul in and belay!”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“Port warp, Nancy.”
He was coming off again in the dinghy. Nancy passed down the end of a rope, and he took it ashore and made it fast round a rock.
“Starboard warp!”
In a very few minutes the Sea Bear was moored stem and stern, with ropes ashore on either side.
“Scrunch. Scrunch.”
“She’s afloat again,” called Roger. “Shall I give her another push with the engine?”
“Finished with engines.”
Roger disappeared below. The throbbing of the engine came to an end and Roger bobbed up again on deck, wiping his hands on a greasy rag and looking extremely pleased.
HOW LEGS WORK
Captain Flint, very hot and out of breath, came aboard.
“Scrunch” … A very gentle scrunch this time.
“She’s tickling the ground,” said Titty.
“That’s all right,” he panted. “Tide’s got another inch or two to rise. And now we’ll put our feet down. Starboard side first. We’ve plenty of time to get them both down before she settles.”
Nothing could have been simpler. The after end of the long timber that had been slung along the starboard side was lowered. Nancy pulled on a rope in the bows while John paid out a rope from the stern until the timber was standing straight up and down. Captain Flint had a good look, and both ropes were made fast. The upper end of the post was lashed to the shroud. The same thing was done to the leg on the other side, and there was the Sea Bear ready to take the ground with her keel and with a leg on each side of her to hold her up as soon as the tide should leave her.
“You’d better get dressed,” said Dorothea to Dick, and he bolted below. Any minute now he would know whether he would be free to go ashore.
“That’s all we can do for now,” said Captain Flint presently. “Well done, everybody. What about breakfast?”
“Porridge’ll be cold,” said Susan.
“Who cares?” said Nancy.
“There’ll be hot coffee anyway,” said Peggy. “I got the Primus going again while you were fixing the legs.”
They had hardly begun their porridge when they felt the ship meet the bottom once more and they knew that the tide which had lifted them after they first touched had begun to drop. There was a general stampede up the companion and up the fo’c’sle ladders.
“She’s sitting very pretty,” said Captain Flint.
“What about her legs?” said John.
“They’ll be doing their share in a minute.”
“This one’s on the bottom anyhow,” said Roger. “I can see a fish nosing round it.”
“Her waterline’s showing,” said Nancy a minute or two later.
“Another couple of hours and we’ll be at work.”
“Do let’s get breakfast finished,” said Susan.
They went down again and Dick, still thinking of those lochs marked on the chart not so very far away, put his question.
“Will you want all of us for the scrubbing?” he said.
“All hands,” said Nancy.
“Don’t you think it,” said Captain Flint. “Not enough brushes and scrapers for one thing. No. The four toughest are the ones I want. John and Nancy with Susan and Peggy to lend a hand. And we’ll ask the others to keep out of the way. Better let them have a run ashore.”
“We’ll explore,” said Titty joyfully.
“Of course if you really don’t want us,” said Dorothea, who also was thinking of adventure on land.
“Good,” said Roger.
Dick, thinking of Divers, was too pleased to say anything at all.
“Stow your grub away,” said Peggy, “and then Susan and I’ll make sandwiches so that the land party can clear out.”
“The land party!” Titty and Dorothea and Roger looked at each other with eyes full of plans. Dick was running over in his mind the things that, as Ship’s Naturalist, he must not forget to take.
“May we take the little chart?” asked Titty.
“It doesn’t give names to anything,” said John.
“All the better,” said Titty. “We’ll put in names ourselves … Scrubbers’ Bay for a start.”
“And Gull Cliff,” said Dorothea.
“I don’t suppose Mac’ll mind,” said Captain Flint.
The Sea Bear was settling firmly on her keel and legs. People talked a little less loudly than usual. Throughout the cruise they had known her alive under their feet, swaying along with a reaching wind, punching into head seas, alive always, even when moored in harbour for the night. Now, suddenly, she was dead. Nobody said anything about it, but each one of them kept glancing at the faces of the others to see if they felt it too.
“I wonder what she’s like underneath,” said Nancy suddenly.
“We’ll soon know,” said John.
“Most of these old pilot cutters are the same,” said Captain Flint. “Deepest at the heel.”
“Won’t she settle on a slant with her nose down?” said John, who had been thinking it out.
“She would on flat ground,” said Captain Flint. “But this beach has a slope to it. She’s very nearly level, and she must be pretty well solid on her legs by now.”
“I’ve had enough to eat,” said Nancy. “I’m going up to have a look.”
Captain Flint followed her, stuffing tobacco into his pipe. John made a large mouthful of the last of a slice of bread and marmalade, gulped the last of his coffee, and was gone. Titty and Dorothea hurried after john. Dick had already finished his breakfast and was getting out the things he needed and putting them in a row on the settee below his bunk. Camera. Telescope. Pencil. Notebook. Nothing was to be forgotten. Roger stood up, glanced at the companion ladder and then back at the table. He sat down again and passed his empty mug