"Stand in a little closer," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Give a cast with the lead, Woodleigh."
The sounding gave six fathoms.
"Good enough," declared Mr. Armitage, again referring to the chart. "The Gunfleet is fairly steep-to on this side. Give her half-speed, Peter."
By means of the throttle-levers in the wheel-house speed could be varied without the necessity for Roche to be below. At a modest four knots the Rosalie groped her way towards the north-western edge of the sand-bank known as the Gunfleet.
"There's the lighthouse," declared Mr. Armitage, indicating a lobster-pot-like building perched upon several massive piles. A partial lifting of the mist revealed its outlines a good two miles away. "If your theory's right, Stratton, the dog stands a good chance of being drowned before it can regain the lighthouse. The tide's making pretty rapidly."
"We must rescue it, sir," declared Stratton.
"Certainly," agreed Mr. Armitage. "Carry on, Peter. I'll take the wheel whilst you are gone."
There was no necessity for the Patrol-leader to turn out the port watch. Already the "watch below" had heard the news and were on deck.
Quickly the dinghy was cleared away, the davits swung out, and the boat prepared for lowering. Directly the Rosalie lost way Stratton, Warkworth, and Hepburn jumped into her. Peter steered and the others rowed, pulling lustily at the tough ash oars until the dinghy almost leapt through the water.
Upon drawing close to the sands, Stratton saw that there was a considerable "tumble" over the edge. To attempt to land would be highly dangerous, in spite of the fact that the sea was quite calm elsewhere.