"That's Dungeness Lighthouse," said the Scoutmaster. "The spit of shingle is still beneath the horizon."
"It looks different since I reported the matter," continued Woodleigh; "shorter. Before, it was much higher, and there was a curious-looking cloud over it."
Mr. Armitage had scarcely left the wheel-house when Woodleigh again called out.
Returning, the Scoutmaster saw that not only was the lighthouse distorted, but there was an inverted image above it. Practically the whole stretch of Dungeness, with the adjacent coast-guard buildings, appeared floating upside down in the air. Then after a brief instant the vision appeared to quiver and disperse, until the actual lighthouse tower resumed its normal appearance.
"Mirage!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage. "Not at all common; but I've seen similar effects off the south coast. It usually foretells hard winds from the east'ard."
"Then we did the right thing in getting under way to-day, sir?"
"Rather!" replied the Scoutmaster emphatically. "The open Channel's no place to be caught out in. Once we round Selsea Bill we'll be sheltered by the Wight, with plenty of convenient harbours under our lee. Here harbours are few and far between. There's Newhaven, Shoreham, and Littlehampton; all difficult to make in heavy weather. Shoreham and Littlehampton, too, are useless at low water. That's why I'm anxious to carry on."
Mr. Armitage glanced astern—to wind'ard. The sky was cloudless. The almost flat calm still held.
"We may get another twenty-four hours of fine weather," he mused. "Glass is falling slightly, and there's no question that the abnormal refraction of the atmosphere means wind, and plenty of it."
Nearly an hour elapsed before Dungeness was abeam. The Sea Scouts were greatly interested in the far-flung tongue of shingle, especially when they were told that it was one of the few places on the coast of the British Isles where the sea, instead of encroaching, was receding, and that the land was gradually but surely gaining.