An examination showed that the hull had sustained no damage. The bow planking was as tight as the proverbial bottle, and, fortunately, the propeller-blades had not come in contact with the luckless porpoise.
"We're approaching Brighton," continued Mr. Jackson. "Although the tide's foul there isn't much strength in it. Breeze is freshening, but it's shifted a couple of points on the starboard quarter."
"Off the land," commented his fellow-Scoutmaster. "So much the better for us. No risk of gybing."
Shoreham they passed. It was low tide, and the signals from the Middle Pier proclaimed the fact that there was not enough water on the bar. In the circumstances there was nothing for it but to carry on for Littlehampton.
It was eight in the evening when the Rosalie cautiously approached the entrance to the latter harbour. Sails were stowed, and a leadsman told off to take soundings.
Once it was touch-and-go whether the yacht would ground, for there was less than a foot of water under her keel; and it was with feelings of relief that Mr. Armitage gave orders for half-speed ahead as the Rosalie passed between the pier-heads.
"Not so dusty—Ramsgate to Littlehampton in a day!" he exclaimed, as the yacht moored between two buoys on the west side of the narrow harbour. He gave a glance at the now lowering sky. "Well, we're here," he added. "Wonder when we'll be able to get out?"