For the next two days the Spindrift remained at St. Ives, alternately rolling like a barrel or lying well over on the bottom of the harbour, according to the state of the tide. On the first of those two days it would have been sheer madness to attempt to put to sea: the yacht would have been dismasted or sunk before she came abreast of Pendeen. On the second the brief summer gale had moderated. The Spindrift might have made the passage round The Land successfully, but Mr. Graham deemed it prudent to wait until the sea calmed down. It looked quiet enough when viewed from the heights above St. Ives, but there were those long Atlantic rollers between Cape Cornwall and Land's End to be taken into account, to say nothing of the strong current setting towards the deadly Brisons.
The greater part of the time was spent ashore. Enthusiastic sailor-lads though they were, the Sea Scouts found that life afloat under these conditions was neither comfortable nor instructive. Sleeping on board, with the deck at an angle of 45 degrees was bad enough, but when it came to eating and living in a confined space that was rolling monotonously until the yacht's planks were awash, it was too much for the crew to endure.
At length, the glass began to rise slowly, after suffering a relapse that threatened a harder blow. The weather reports stated that a cyclone of considerable violence and with a narrow path had shifted towards the North Sea. Vessels putting in from the west'ard reported calm seas, while on the morning of the third day a grey dawn prognosticated a return of fine weather. On a falling tide, and with less than a foot of water under her keel, the Spindrift slipped the friendly mooring-chain—their blessing in disguise—and stood out bound round The Land. A light nor'-westerly breeze was in her favour, although it was a case of long and short tacks until Zennor Hill was abeam.
"Is that Land's End, sir?" asked Hayes, pointing to a bold promontory on the port bow.
"No," replied the Scoutmaster, "that's Cape Cornwall. It looks to be the most westerly point of England, and its bold appearance rather bears it out. Don't expect too much of Land's End. Viewed from seaward it has rather a disappointing aspect compared with Cape Cornwall."
The latter cape rounded, the Spindrift stood well out to avoid the Brisons, tall detached rocks connected with the shore by a submerged reef, over which the tide swirls furiously.
Right ahead, a tall lighthouse reared itself from a low-lying ridge of rocks. It was the Longships, one of the beacons lighting the "Chops of the Channel ".
"We don't have to go outside that, sir, do we?" asked Desmond, who was taking his trick at the helm. "The chart shows plenty of water between the Longships and the shore."
"No, inside," replied Mr. Graham. "You'll have to keep on a stern-bearing—keep the highest part of the northern Brison west'ard of the highest part of the southern Brison. That will take you through. There's Land's End, lads."
Before the noted promontory drew abeam, Mr. Graham saw something that caused him certain misgivings. He had wished to round The Land in calm weather. That wish was being satisfied; but with the calm came a sea-fog. Already the high ground above Land's End was being obscured by a pall of fleecy vapour.