The lads had a fairly restful night, but at five in the morning those sleeping in the bunks on the port side were summarily evicted by the Spindrift heeling well over as the tide left her. Findlay and Hayes, being on the starboard side, slept on, sublimely unconscious of their companions' discomfort, until Desmond slackened off their cot-lashings and tumbled them unceremoniously upon the floor.
They had breakfast in undignified postures, sitting on the rise of the starboard bunk with their feet propped against the panelling of the cabin. To the happy-go-lucky Sea Scouts it was part of the game. They made light of their discomforts, and of a heavy and substantial meal at the same time.
A trip ashore, performed almost dryshod on the bed of the harbour, occupied a part of the time before the Spindrift lifted. Then, as the tide rose and the angle of the yacht's deck became less and less, all hands set to work to prepare the vessel for sea.
At last she was afloat. With a light nor'-westerly breeze sweeping down over The Island the canvas was set and the cable hove short. Already the bilge had been pumped dry. The yacht had almost "taken up", and the pump now acted admirably, thereby compensating in a measure for Findlay's lavish use of powdered Portland cement.
"All ready?" shouted Desmond, who had charge of the yacht during this stage of the proceedings. "Cant her off on the starboard tack, Jock. Up with the anchor, Hayes, smartly now!"
The Spindrift heeled as Findlay hauled the staysail sheet a-weather. Hayes at the winch plied the lever vigorously. At first the cable came home quickly, then the strain became greater and greater until Hayes was unable to move the winch lever another inch.
"Up with it, Hayes," yelled the Patrol Leader.
"Can't," was the laconic response.
Quickly belaying the staysail sheet, Findlay went to his chum's assistance. Another half a dozen links came home, and then the cable remained rigid and immovable.
"Anchor's foul of something, sir!" reported Findlay breathlessly.