Making his way for'ard the Scoutmaster knelt on the heaving fore-deck while he fumbled for the gasket securing the staysail. In this position he was often thigh deep in water, as the yacht dipped her lean bows into the angry crests. It was now blowing half a gale, and the yacht was perilously close to a lee shore.
To his relief, Mr. Graham found the staysail halliard without difficulty. A trial hoist showed that the sail could be set without risk of fouling anything.
The next task was to weigh the anchor. In ordinary circumstances this operation would be performed by means of a small capstan—an easy yet slow process. Long before the anchor could be brought a-peak the yacht would drag and go aground. Slipping the cable was out of the question, as the Scoutmaster did not know whether the end of the chain was shackled or not, and there was no time to grope about in a strange fo'c'sle, struggling with a possibly refractory shackle.
"Desmond!" he shouted.
The Patrol Leader, relinquishing the as yet unwanted tiller, made his way for'ard, clutching at runners, shrouds, and mast as he did so. Without these supports he would almost certainly have lost his footing, so erratic and violent was the motion of the yacht.
"Bear a hand!" exclaimed Mr. Graham breathlessly, pointing to the cable.
Desmond understood. In order to save time the anchor-cable was to be hauled in by hand instead of by means of the winch.
It was a tough task, especially at first, but gradually the iron chain came home, until a sudden and considerable relaxation of the strain announced that the anchor was off the bottom, or in nautical terms "up and down".
The Patrol Leader subsided ungracefully upon the mainmast spider band, while the Scoutmaster sat heavily upon the brass-capped bitts. It was painful for both, but there was no time to waste in vain complaints.
"Take the helm—quick!" shouted Mr. Graham, regaining his feet and hauling in the staysail halliards.