"Luff!" shouted the Scoutmaster, as he hauled himself along by the weather-rail towards the wheel-house.
Hepburn was already endeavouring to luff, but, although he put the helm hard-a-port, the yacht showed no tendency to fly up into the wind. Pinned down by the closely-set staysail, she simply lay over and refused to recover.
Literally sliding to leeward until he stood knee-deep in water against the lee rail, Mr. Armitage cast of the staysail sheet. The heavy triangular canvas slatted in the wind, the sheet block flogging to and fro in a manner that resisted all attempts on the part of the Scoutmaster to secure it. The while the sail was making a noise like the cracking of a gigantic whip.
Relieved of the tremendous pressure, the Rosalie recovered from her dangerous list, but it was not until Mr. Armitage, assisted by Stratton and Roche, who had followed him on deck, had lowered and stowed the staysail that the yacht came up head to wind.
"That was a nasty one!" exclaimed Mr. Armitage breathlessly. "Start the motors, Roche—sharp as you can!"
Not a little scared, the rest of the crew lowered and secured the mainsail, while the Rosalie, under bare poles, fell broadside on to the waves, which in a very short time had assumed huge and threatening proportions. It was an off-shore squall, and none the less dangerous on that account, and until Roche and Flemming got the motors going the Rosalie had a particularly bad time.
It was raining heavily. Already the shore, although less than two miles away, was blotted out. The wind shrieked through the rigging, blinding showers of spray enveloped the wheel-house, and solid masses of water pounded the heaving, slippery deck.
In ten minutes the squall was over. The sun shone brightly, and although the waves ran high they were no longer dangerous, while dead to windward lay the secure harbour of Harwich.
"Why didn't you luff when you saw it coming, Alan?" asked Mr. Armitage.
"I did, sir, but she wouldn't answer," said Hepburn.