Mr. Armitage was still sleeping soundly. Even the racket in the Wallet failed to rouse him; but Stratton, shaking off his lethargy, climbed into the wheel-house and stood behind the helmsman.
"Where are we now, Woodleigh?" he asked.
"Nearly there—at Brightlingsea," replied the Sea Scout proudly; "there are the beacons on Colne Point."
"Hadn't we better wake Mr. Armitage?" suggested the Patrol-leader.
"No, don't," said Woodleigh earnestly. "He's dead beat. There's no difficulty in getting in, and it will be a surprise for him to find out where we are. Think you'll be able to manage that anchor?"
Peter thought that, with assistance, he could.
"I'll wait till we're in," he decided. "Not much fun stocking an anchor with the boat jumping about like this. I say, bit of crowd, isn't it?"
He pointed ahead, where the estuary of the Colne was black with the hulls of fishing-smacks that had run in on the approach of bad weather.
"Wind's veering," added Woodleigh. "Look where it is now—almost dead astern. Guess we've done it just in time."
Within the last ten minutes the wind had shifted from N.N.W. to S.E., and in consequence Mersea Flats, on the port hand to the entrance of the river, were a lee shore. Above the noise of the engine the two Scouts could hear the roar of the breakers upon the hard sand, for it was now just on low water.