The North Sea was not looking at its best. Although the wind was off shore, there was a nasty "lop" off the entrance to the harbour. Even the lightship was pounding heavily, cascades of water pouring through her hawse-pipes as she lifted to the waves; sailing-coasters were rolling badly in spite of their reduced canvas; and tramps, with trysails set to steady them, were lurching along, leaving a long, almost horizontal trail of smoke far to leeward.
"Thick out there," observed Hepburn. "As bad as we had round the Maplins. We're rolling a bit too."
There was no doubt about it, the Rosalie could and did roll. With the wind abeam her decks were soon wet. It was almost impossible for the crew to move without holding on, and, except for the small wheel-house, there was no protection on deck from the wind and spray.
"We'll see what a little canvas will do," said Mr. Armitage. "She's stiff enough. Up with trysail and mainsail, lads."
Quickly the canvas bellied to the quartering wind, and, as the sheets were hove taut, the Rosalie no longer rolled like a barrel. The disconcerting motion gave place to a rhythmic glide as she lifted gracefully to the waves.
"A good ten or eleven knots," declared Mr. Armitage. "She's as stiff as a house. We'll have the foresail set and stop the engines."
This was done. Although the speed fell off to a bare five knots, the yacht was carrying her tide and simply waltzing past the shore.
"Give me sail for pleasure any old day," declared Mr. Jackson. "Petrol's all very well if you're in a hurry, but when all's said and done canvas wants a lot of beating."
The Sea Scouts revelled in the situation. With the breeze being true and in their favour, they could lie on the deck and enjoy the view, as the Rosalie slipped past Lowestoft and made short work of it towards Southwold. Close in under the land they were no longer subjected to clouds of spray, and the tardy appearance of the sun gave a finishing touch to their enjoyment.
There was no immediate hurry. They had plenty of time to cover the fifty odd miles between Yarmouth and Harwich, where Mr. Armitage had decided to put in for the night. A series of short passages was preferable to making a direct run across to the Forelands with the prospect of finding themselves off Dover in the dark, and the Scoutmaster knew from experience the effect of carrying on and depriving the crew of a much-needed rest. If occasion demanded, he would be equal to it, but he preferred otherwise.