Already the water was sluicing over the bottom-boards, as the tubby little dinghy rose and fell in the vicious seas. Desmond, still keeping his eyes fixed upon a faint object that he rightly supposed to be the craft in distress, groped and found the baler. Steering with one hand he began baling for all he was worth. Even then the water seemed to be gaining as the tops of the white crested waves slopped in over the bows.
The Scoutmaster and Jock Findlay were beginning to feel the terrific strain. Used as they were to rowing, they stuck it grimly, but even their horny hands were blistering, while their muscles ached and their breath came in short, jerky gasps. Nor could Desmond relieve his chum at the oar, without an almost certain chance of capsizing the dinghy, while even the slightest respite would result in the boat being carried shorewards.
The outermost beacon appeared to glide slowly past the labouring boat. Here the waves were dangerously steep, for the tide was setting strongly to the west'ard, resulting in a seething cross-sea.
"Nearly there!" bawled Desmond encouragingly, raising his voice to make it audible above the noise of the wind and waves.
The yacht—for such she proved to be—was now only about a hundred yards away, as she rose and plunged to the waves, but it took Mr. Graham and Findlay a good ten minutes of desperate pulling to cover the comparatively short distance.
There was no need for the Patrol Leader to give the customary order: "Way 'nough". He knew that his companions would have to row until the dinghy was within oar's-length of the yacht. And then Desmond would be faced by the difficulty of bringing the dinghy alongside the heaving, pitching hull, as the yacht strained at her chain cable.
The result of a false move on the helmsman's part would be that the boat would miss her objective altogether and drift yards lee'ard, or else would be crushed like an egg-shell as the larger craft rolled towards her.
"Ahoy!" shouted Desmond.
"Ahoy!" came a muffled reply. "Come aboard."
"Easier said than done," thought Mr. Graham. "Why doesn't the fellow come on deck to take our painter?"