The sorry repast over, the crew repaired on deck. Headsails were trimmed, and once more the Spindrift heeled to the freshening breeze. Godrevy Island and its lighthouse were presently abeam, and the expanse of St. Ives Bay lay ahead.
"Clinking breeze, isn't it, sir?" remarked Desmond.
"M'yes," admitted the Scoutmaster.
The Patrol Leader glanced inquiringly at him. The none too emphatic affirmative needed some explanation.
"This wind," continued Mr. Graham, "is rather bad for the tidal harbour of St. Ives. It may send in a nasty lop unless it pipes down before night."
Mr. Graham was particularly anxious to put into St. Ives, as it was a good port of departure for rounding Land's End, or "The Land" as it is described by seamen. But, with the wind east or nor'-east, the anchorage was undesirable, although there was little danger. An alternative was Hayle, where a safe but congested anchorage was to be found, but that meant considerable delay and increased distance for the next day's run. A high and steady glass decided the point; Mr. Graham made up his mind to make St. Ives.
Shortening sail, the Spindrift passed the end of the partly demolished breakwater and rounded-to. In ordinary circumstances it would have been possible to run out a warp to an iron post ashore and a stern line to one of the buoys; but such a course was now impracticable. The tidal harbour was so full of fishing craft that no post or buoy was available.
"We'll have to anchor, lads," he exclaimed. "Stream the buoy—clove hitch on the crown, there Jock. Let go!"
The wind was dying down, and there was only a slight roll. The picturesque little harbour took the Sea Scouts' fancy immensely. They were all eager to go ashore.
"Can't we have a meal in the town, sir?" inquired Hayes artlessly. "If we had it on board we might have to swallow another peck of cement."
"All right!" agreed Mr. Graham. "See that there's nothing loose on deck."
"Are there thieves about?" asked Findlay.
"No, I'm not thinking of that," replied the Scoutmaster, "otherwise one of us would have to remain on board. As a rule it's quite safe to leave anything about in these Cornish ports. The people are quite different from those of certain Thames Estuary places, where you daren't leave the slightest thing of value and expect to find it in the morning. No; what I'm thinking of is that the Spindrift may lie over a bit when the tide leaves her, and things on deck may roll off."
Ten minutes later the crew of the Spindrift were exploring the crooked, narrow, and picturesque streets of old St. Ives, built on a narrow neck of rocky ground called, for some inexplicable reason, The Island. There they inquired for the post office, for Mr. Graham had arranged to pick up letters at St. Ives.
There was a goodly budget, all hands receiving three or more missives. One was from Patrol Leader Bradley, of the 9th Southend Troop, who was one of the lads who had arranged to join the guardship at Wootton.
"DEAR SIR" (it ran),
"Johns, Dexter, Phillips, Wenlock, and I arrived here yesterday. We think it a top-hole place, but we wish we were with you on the yacht. There's not much news. Bedford cut himself last night, and this morning Coles fell overboard.
"Yours truly,
"WILL BRADLEY,
"P. L. 9th S. on S. Sea Scouts."
Another letter was from Tenderfoot Coles:
"DEAR SIR,
"We hope you are having a good time on the Spindrift. I hope to have a telegram from you telling Bedford and me to come to Plymouth as soon as possible. The other fellows came here yesterday, so we are pretty lively. I've just fallen overboard. A rope parted as I was hauling up the dinghy. There was no tide running, so I swam to the gangway, and Dexter hauled me up. I've changed and now I'm quite all right. Bedford cut his little finger with a tin-opener. It's not much. Phillips and I bound it up, and this morning it is almost healed.
"Yours Sea-scoutingly,
"EDWARD COLES."
"Two youngsters write about the same incident," thought Mr. Graham. "One omits the most important part—how the accidents occurred and how they resulted. The other gives just the necessary details and no more. Coles will, I fancy, turn out to be a better Patrol Leader than Bradley is. One is practical, and the other is unimaginative. Bradley is a worker, but he has no initiative."
After a long walk along the cliffs, the Sea Scouts returned to the harbour to find the Spindrift lying high and dry, and with a pronounced list to starboard. Fortunately, she was fairly flat-floored and had been fitted with bilge-keels, so there was no cause for anxiety on the score of her not lifting to the rising tide.
Taking off shoes and stockings, the crew dragged their dinghy over the sandy bed of the harbour until they were close enough to secure the painter to the yacht's bumkin. Then, scrambling on board, they made the best of a bad job until the rising tide brought the Spindrift to an even keel.
It was now ten o'clock. Assuming that the tide would be half an hour later on the morrow, Mr. Graham announced that he hoped to get under way sharp at eleven.
"And have a good night's rest, lads," he added. "To-morrow's cruise will be the heaviest of the lot, I fancy. We may not make Penzance until after dark."
The lads had a fairly restful night, but at five in the morning those sleeping in the bunks on the port side were summarily evicted by the Spindrift heeling well over as the tide left her. Findlay and Hayes, being on the starboard side, slept on, sublimely unconscious of their companions' discomfort, until Desmond slackened off their cot-lashings and tumbled them unceremoniously upon the floor.
They had breakfast in undignified postures, sitting on the rise of the starboard bunk with their feet propped against the panelling of the cabin. To the happy-go-lucky Sea Scouts it was part of the game. They made light of their discomforts, and of a heavy and substantial meal at the same time.
A trip ashore, performed almost dryshod on the bed of the harbour, occupied a part of the time before the Spindrift lifted. Then, as the tide rose and the angle of the yacht's deck became less and less, all hands set to work to prepare the vessel for sea.
At last she was afloat. With a light nor'-westerly breeze sweeping down over The Island the canvas was set and the cable hove short. Already the bilge had been pumped dry. The yacht had almost "taken up", and the pump now acted admirably, thereby compensating in a measure for Findlay's lavish use of powdered Portland cement.
"All ready?" shouted Desmond, who had charge of the yacht during this stage of the proceedings. "Cant her off on the starboard tack, Jock. Up with the anchor, Hayes, smartly now!"
The Spindrift heeled as Findlay hauled the staysail sheet a-weather. Hayes at the winch plied the lever vigorously. At first the cable came home quickly, then the strain became greater and greater until Hayes was unable to move the winch lever another inch.
"Up with it, Hayes," yelled the Patrol Leader.
"Can't," was the laconic response.
Quickly belaying the staysail sheet, Findlay went to his chum's assistance. Another half a dozen links came home, and then the cable remained rigid and immovable.
"Anchor's foul of something, sir!" reported Findlay breathlessly.
"Carry on!" was the Scoutmaster's only rejoinder.
The Sea Scouts knew the meaning of that "Carry on ". It meant that they were on their mettle. They had to extricate the anchor by their own devices. The first thing they did was to secure the anchor-trig and haul on the trip-line. The latter was unequal to the strain. It parted well below the surface. Not for the first time was a trip-line a broken reed.
Then Desmond tried to break out the anchor by "sailing it out ". Telling Jock to pay out plenty of chain, he got way on the yacht, first on one tack and then on the other. Every time the cable snubbed violently, but still the stubborn anchor retained its hold.
It was now about time, thought Mr. Graham, that he had a look in. Gaining experience was all very well when time was no object; but, with a long day's run in front of him, the Scoutmaster realized that every minute counted. Not only that, the tide was making rapidly, and the deeper the water the more difficult would be the task of freeing the fouled anchor.
Telling Findlay and Desmond to heave short, Mr. Graham went for'ard with a long boat-hook and a coil of three-inch manila, one end of which was bent to the anchor buoy. Sounding, the Scoutmaster confirmed his suspicions: the anchor had caught in a heavy ground-chain. His next step was to submerge the buoy with the boat-hook until he could pass it under the bight of the chain. This took a considerable amount of time and patience, but at length the buoy reappeared on the surface, while the rope to which it was attached had been passed under the chain itself. "Now we've settled the problem!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "Cast off the cable from the wind, Findlay, and take a couple of turns with the rope. That's right, now heave on the winch." The two Sea Scouts did so until the three-inch manila was strained almost to breaking-point. They now realized what the Scoutmaster was about. The strain on the rope lifted the mooring chain clear of the ground. It now ought to be a simple matter to shake the anchor clear, stow it on board, and ride to the rope until it required to be slipped.
It was a simple operation in theory. In practice Mr. Graham had done it successfully on several occasions, but this time the Scoutmaster had the mortification of finding that his practical demonstration was a failure. The anchor stubbornly refused to release its hold, and no power available could raise the bight of the mooring chain above the surface. For half an hour Mr. Graham persevered. By that time the strain on the rope had brought the yacht's bows down a good eighteen inches above her water-level.
"Slacken away, lads," he exclaimed. "We'll have to wait till low tide. There's no sailing for us to-day."
During the afternoon, a heavy ground-swell set in, followed by a gusty sou'-westerly wind. Consulting the barometer the Scoutmaster found that the glass had dropped three points in less than a couple of hours.
He no longer regretted that the Spindrift had been compelled to remain in port.
Presently the fishing-boats in St. Ives Bay came heading up for home under close reefed canvas. A little later a couple of boats ran round Fisherman's Reef with their mizzen sails set on their main-masts. Their mainsails had been split to ribbons. They were followed by a smack under jury-rig, her mast having parted five feet above the deck.
The Scoutmaster was immensely relieved that the Spindrift was not off Land's End.
At low tide all hands went over the side to retrieve the fouled anchor. One fluke had caught in a link, and the strain had forced it in so far that it could only be released by heavy blows with a hammer.
To prevent a repetition of the occurrence, the anchor was unshackled and the cable passed under the ground chain and brought back on board again.
"That will hold us all right," declared Findlay.
"My word, sir," said Hayes. "It would have been a bit rough outside, wouldn't it?"
"They say—those fishermen over there," remarked Desmond, "that the Sennen lifeboat had to go out to rescue the crew of a couple of schooners. Where is Sennen, sir?"
"Close to Land's End," replied Mr. Graham, while in his heart he was giving thanks to Providence that the Spindrift and her crew were not lying fathoms deep off the pitiless rocks of Cornwall.