"We'll have to anchor, lads," he exclaimed. "Stream the buoy—clove hitch on the crown, there Jock. Let go!"
The wind was dying down, and there was only a slight roll. The picturesque little harbour took the Sea Scouts' fancy immensely. They were all eager to go ashore.
"Can't we have a meal in the town, sir?" inquired Hayes artlessly. "If we had it on board we might have to swallow another peck of cement."
"All right!" agreed Mr. Graham. "See that there's nothing loose on deck."
"Are there thieves about?" asked Findlay.
"No, I'm not thinking of that," replied the Scoutmaster, "otherwise one of us would have to remain on board. As a rule it's quite safe to leave anything about in these Cornish ports. The people are quite different from those of certain Thames Estuary places, where you daren't leave the slightest thing of value and expect to find it in the morning. No; what I'm thinking of is that the Spindrift may lie over a bit when the tide leaves her, and things on deck may roll off."
Ten minutes later the crew of the Spindrift were exploring the crooked, narrow, and picturesque streets of old St. Ives, built on a narrow neck of rocky ground called, for some inexplicable reason, The Island. There they inquired for the post office, for Mr. Graham had arranged to pick up letters at St. Ives.
There was a goodly budget, all hands receiving three or more missives. One was from Patrol Leader Bradley, of the 9th Southend Troop, who was one of the lads who had arranged to join the guardship at Wootton.
"DEAR SIR" (it ran),
"Johns, Dexter, Phillips, Wenlock, and I arrived here yesterday. We think it a top-hole place, but we wish we were with you on the yacht. There's not much news. Bedford cut himself last night, and this morning Coles fell overboard.