To make matters worse the wind died away, leaving the Spindrift rolling sluggishly, with her canvas hanging idly from her swaying yards.
"We're in for a fairly thick fog, Desmond," said the Scoutmaster quietly. "Take a compass bearing of Land's End before it's shut out. Good: now keep her head on sou'-by-east. Jock, start up the motor. The sooner we get into the English Channel the better."
Five minutes later the Spindrift was enveloped in the dense, clammy fog. From the cockpit it was impossible to see the bowsprit end, while the headsails, grey and grotesquely distorted, seemed baffling in their size and appearance.
Somewhere astern, the Longships Lighthouse was throwing out its fog-signals—two explosive rockets every five minutes. Faintly, and far ahead, came the hoarse bray of a steamer's syren. Ashore a dog was barking dismally—the noise too close to be appreciated by the crew of the fog-bound yacht; while in the flat calm, the roar of the surf upon the iron-bound coast was an audible reminder of the fate a small craft might expect should she be carried upon that dangerous shore.
It was the Scoutmaster's plan to hold on the present course until the yacht was well clear of the coast; then to shape a course up-Channel until the fog lifted. He was of opinion that it would be far safer to spend a day and a night afloat, if necessary, with plenty of sea-room, than to attempt to find his way into Penzance in a blinding fog, and to risk being swept ashore or being carried upon one of the numerous reefs or detached rocks which abound on the west side of Mount's Bay.
Although the Spindrift's compass had no deviation card, the Scoutmaster had verified it by taking various bearings on the run from Bude to St. Ives. He found that the compass was remarkably accurate with the vessel's head pointing between west and sou'-west; but whether there was an error in the compass on an easterly course he had not the slightest idea.
Consequently, he decided to take no undue risks on that score, and when, after an hour's steady progress under motor-power, the Spindrift was, according to his calculation, four miles south of Land's End, he ordered a course east-by-south.
The Sea Scouts had been caught out in fogs off the Essex coast several times. Then the usual procedure was to stand shorewards and drop anchor in about one fathom at low water, until the fog lifted. In such shallow water there was very little risk of being run down.
But in the present circumstances anchoring was out of the question. All they could do was to carry on with the utmost caution, until a lifting of the pall of vapour gave them a chance of verifying their position.
Although the lads did not realize the gravity of the situation to the same extent as did their Scoutmaster, they felt far from happy. It was an eerie experience, forging ahead at about three knots through the mist. No longer could they hear sound from the shore. The noise of the exhaust from the motor deadened everything, the sharp reports reverberating as the sound was thrown back by the enclosing vault of fog.