"It\'s going to be a dirty night," remarked Mr. Graham, Scoutmaster of the 9th Southend-on-Sea Sea Scouts. "Not very promising for the first day of our holidays."

"You are right, sir," agreed Desmond, the Patrol Leader. "We are safe enough here; and, after all, the weather isn\'t everything. We\'re jolly lucky to be afloat."

"Although we\'ve nothing much to go to sea in," added Pat Hayes. "This part of the coast is very different from Southend, isn\'t it, sir?"

"I can hardly believe we\'re miles from home," chimed in Ted Coles, the tenderfoot or "greenhorn" of the troop. "My word, that shakes the old boat up!" he exclaimed, as a vicious blast of wind bore down upon the side of the lofty superstructure of their temporary floating home.

It was a stroke of good luck, or perhaps good management on the part of Scoutmaster Graham, that five members of the 9th Southend Sea Scouts found themselves in the Isle of Wight.

They had that afternoon "taken over" the guardship of the 6th Wootton Bridge Sea Scouts, the latter having accepted an invitation to take part in a "jamboree" on the other side of the Channel at a place called St. Valerie-en-Caux.

Before the Wootton Bridge lads left, their Scoutmaster, Mr. Tweedie, wrote to Mr. Graham—they had been brother officers in the R.N.V.R. in that distant period "when there had been a war on"—offering to lend him the Wootton Bridge Sea Scouts\' guardship for the latter end of July and the greater part of the month of August.

Scoutmaster Graham put the proposition before the lads. They simply jumped at it. A holiday in the Isle of Wight was far different from knocking around the Essex and Suffolk creeks in their open whaler—an old tub that could not be trusted to go anywhere under canvas unless the wind was abaft the beam—and rowing, although good exercise, is apt to become a tedious business, especially when it comes to propelling an unwieldy eighteen-foot ex-Service boat for miles and miles.

So the offer was gladly accepted. Mr. Graham, Frank Bedford, Pat Hayes, and Ted Coles had taken train to Portsmouth; Patrol Leader David Desmond and Second Jock Findlay had done the ninety odd miles journey on their trusty push-bikes. Taking two days over the distance, they were awaiting the train-party at Portsmouth Harbour Station when the Scoutmaster and his three young companions arrived with their somewhat generous amount of luggage.

It was a matter for mutual regret that some members of the troop were unable to be present. The fact remained that out of three patrols only five Sea Scouts were able to accept the Wootton Bridge lads\' invitation, although it was just possible that others might do so later on.

From Portsmouth the elated Sea Scouts crossed by steamer to Ryde, their one disappointment being that they were unable to have a glimpse of Nelson\'s Victory, but the staunch old three-decker was in dry dock, undergoing a thorough overhauling to repair the ravages of Father Time.

At Ryde they commenced their four-mile tramp to Wootton Bridge, their gear being piled upon a trek-cart lent them by some obliging brother-Scouts.

It was late in the afternoon when the Sea Scouts had their first view of Wootton Creek, and rather unfortunately it was nearly low water. From the top of the hill they could see a very narrow stream meandering between banks of mud. On either side the ground rose steeply, the left bank being thickly wooded. Away to their right the Sea Scouts could discern the creek winding towards the open waters of Spithead, while in the distance the flat coast of Hampshire cut the skyline.

"Where\'s the guardship, sir?" asked Hayes.

"There she is, unless I\'m greatly mistaken," replied the Scoutmaster, pointing to a long, low, black hull with a white superstructure.

"She\'s not very big," remarked Ted Coles, the greenhorn, dubiously. "And the creek\'s little larger than a ditch."

"Don\'t look a gift-horse in the mouth," said Desmond. "Wait till we\'re aboard. Things look a bit deceptive from a height. Come on, you fellows, it\'s down hill all the rest of the way."

At length the Sea Scouts and their trek-cart came to a halt outside an old mill. Here the main road from Ryde to Newport, the "capital" of the Isle of Wight, crosses the creek by means of a brick bridge. Close to it is the village that takes its name from the bridge.

"Now to find out Mr. Johnson who has the key of the guardship," announced the Scoutmaster; but, before he could take further steps in the matter, an old, grey-bearded man, wearing a blue reefer suit and a peaked cap, came out of a cottage near by.

"You\'rn the gen\'l\'man what\'s a friend to Mr. Tweedie\'s, I take it, sir?" he inquired. "Johnson\'s my name, master mariner for nigh on thirty-five year. I\'ve got the keys, sir. Here they be, an\' a list of where everything be to. If you\'rn wantin\' any help, come to Cap\'n Albert Johnson, being me."

"Thanks awfully, Captain," replied the Scoutmaster. "I suppose there\'s a dinghy to get off to the guardship with?"

"Ay, ay, there\'s a nice li\'l boat belonging to our Sea Scouts. She\'m alongside yon steps, but there ain\'t enough water just now, seein\' as \'ow the tide\'s out."

"In that case we must wait," rejoined Mr. Graham. "How long will it be before the dinghy is afloat?" Captain Johnson gave a glance at the mud-banks.

"Matter of an hour, mebbe an hour an\' a half," he replied. "Say seven o\'clock an\' you\'ll be on the safe side."

"In that case," said Mr. Graham cheerfully, "we may as well get in a few provisions. Unship that gear, Desmond. The trek-cart will come in handy for the grub. Hayes, you\'d better mount guard over our gear. I suppose there\'s fresh water aboard, Captain Johnson?"

"Ay, ay, sir," was the reply, "the lads filled up her tank just afore they went \'foreign\'. There\'ll be a couple o\' hundred gallon in a iron tank amidships. You\'ll find the tap in the galley, but don\'t use the pump. That be for salt water."

Leaving Hayes to contemplate the narrow trickle of water between the mud-flats, the Scoutmaster and the rest of the Sea Scouts set off on their task of buying provisions. By the time they returned with their well-laden trek-cart the tide had commenced to flow, and the water was already lapping the keel of the dinghy.

Ten minutes later the little craft was pushed off through the soft mud and taken alongside the bridge. The stores and baggage were passed aboard, the trek-cart put into a shed at the mill, and the Sea Scouts set off for their temporary floating home.

"She\'s a whopping craft, after all!" exclaimed Ted Coles, as the dinghy drew near the guardship.

Viewed from without, the guardship turned out to be an old Thames barge, about eighty feet over all and from fifteen to eighteen feet beam. The whole of her two holds had been built upon, with a double-decked structure extending the whole width of the ship except for about fifteen feet amidships, where the deck-houses came to the outer edge of the original coamings, thus leaving two sheltered portions of the deck. Aft, the upper deck terminated twelve feet for\'ard of the lower deck, the roof of the latter boasting of a large teak skylight. There were several large glass windows, while a short lowermast and light topmast gave a finishing touch to the Wootton Bridge Sea Scouts\' guardship.

Making the dinghy fast fore and aft to a couple of booms, the Sea Scouts followed their Scoutmaster on deck, and waited with ill-concealed eagerness while he unlocked the door leading to the upper deck.

They found themselves in what was styled the chartroom, a space about six feet in length and occupying the extreme width of the ship. In it were a compass, a flashing signal lamp, a signal locker with a complete set of flags, hand semaphore flags, a couple of telescopes, and on the bulkhead two large charts of Spithead and the Solent.

On each side were windows commanding a view abeam and ahead, while right aft another window, long and narrow, gave an uninterrupted view of the entrance to the creek and the sea beyond.

Leading out of the chartroom was a wide, doorless opening, communicating with the club-room and two sleeping-cabins on the upper deck; while a steep brass-treaded ladder with brass hand-rails gave access below.

On the lower deck were the dining-saloon, kitchen, and two more sleeping-cabins, with nearly seven feet headroom throughout, while right for\'ard was a low-roofed storeroom. Abaft the dining-saloon, and gained by means of a small sliding door, was the bathroom, which in the days when the guardship was a sea-going Thames barge had served as the skipper\'s cabin. "Jolly fine, isn\'t it, sir!" exclaimed Desmond. "And did the Wootton Bridge Sea Scouts do all the work of converting her?"

"Every bit, I think," replied Mr. Graham. "I remember Mr. Tweedie writing to me about it. They cemented the floors and the space between the sides and the lining with ferro-concrete—nearly forty tons of it—before they commenced the woodwork. Altogether it took them seven months to finish the work."

"It must have cost them something," observed Frank Bedford.

"About a couple of hundred pounds," replied the Scoutmaster. "They raised every penny of it by themselves—concerts and that sort of thing—without cadging a single halfpenny. Well, come on. How about grub? Then we\'ll go to general quarters, stow gear, and sling our hammocks."

The first meal on board was a great success, if Jock Findlay\'s initial blunder was not taken into consideration. Jock was told off as cook for the day, and, apparently not having heard Captain Johnson\'s instructions, had made the cocoa with boiling sea-water.

It was getting on for nine o\'clock when the conversation related in the beginning of this chapter took place. Already the sun had dipped behind the tree-clad hills on the western side of the creek. Away to the nor\'ard the sky was overcast, while an on-shore breeze blew with steadily increasing strength up the tidal estuary. The evening was cold—decidedly chilly for July—while occasional scuds of rain presaged a dirty night.

Presently Patrol Leader Desmond, who had been examining the entrance to the creek with one of the telescopes, gave an exclamation of surprise.

"What is it, Desmond?" inquired Jock, who, with the Patrol Leader, was standing in the chartroom. "An SOS?"

"Of sorts," rejoined his chum. "There\'s a small craft out there flying a signal—I\'m not sure, but I think it\'s the NC."

Findlay snatched up the second telescope, threw open one of the windows, and levelled the glass in the direction Desmond had indicated. Before he could focus the instrument, the object lens was blurred with rain.

"Dash it all!" he exclaimed, and proceeded to clean the glass.

Before Findlay could resume his investigations, Desmond had put down his telescope. Hurrying to the head of the ladder he roused his chums by shouting:

"On deck there, you fellows. There\'s a vessel in distress off the mouth of the creek."