"Not yet," was the reply. "There'll be heaps of time when we're inside the cove. Anchor work on the foredeck with this swell on is a bit too risky, especially when it's not really necessary."
The entrance was farther away than the crew imagined, and when at length the Olivette glided into the landlocked cove, they were too busy getting ready to anchor fully to appreciate their surroundings.
"Easy.... Stop.... Touch astern!" ordered Stratton. Then, "Let go!"
The anchor plunged to the bottom of the cove, and when the disturbed sand settled, the lads could distinctly see the "hook" embedded in the ground two fathoms beneath the keel.
"I say," remarked Flemming. "We're too close inshore, aren't we?"
He pointed to a pebbly beach at the base of a frowning cliff. The rounded stones appeared to be less than fifty yards away, but presently a man walking along the shore banished the deception, for the "pebbles" were really large boulders, and the size could not be estimated with any degree of accuracy unless by comparison with the height of a known object.
"It's a place for surprises," observed the Weymouth Scoutmaster. "The stupendous cliffs destroy one's sense of proportion. As a matter of fact we are quite a hundred and fifty yards from the beach. Are you coming ashore?"
"We can spare two hours for exploration," replied Mr. Armitage. "By that time we'll pick up a fair tide round St. Alban's Head. I'm thinking of putting into Poole to-night in order to recover our compass."
Three times the dinghy ferried parties of Scouts to the beach, until the Olivette, deserted, lay rolling heavily in the sheltered basin.
"How would you like to tumble from the top of that cliff to the bottom, Rayburn?" asked Patrol Leader Rusty Rivett, addressing the Sea Scout Tenderfoot.