"Stand by!" shouted Mr. Graham.
The two Sea Scouts looked round. The Spindrift was luffing up.
Ably managed, she lost way within an oar's length of the trio in the "ditch". Seizing a rope thrown to him, Desmond made a bowline round the unconscious youth. Then, telling Jock to clamber on board—it was about as much as he could do, and then only by means of the bobstay—the Patrol Leader remained in the water until the rescued lad could be hauled into safety.
It was a tough task. Mr. Graham had to hook on the runners before the heavy burden could be hoisted on deck. Then Desmond came aboard, after having placed the life-buoy on deck.
"You two go below and change," said the Scoutmaster. "I'll see to this young gentleman. And Hayes is almost alongside. He'll give a hand."
Desmond and Findlay were not long in shifting into dry kit. When they came on deck they found the Spindrift hove-to and the rest of the crew engaged in first aid work.
"Take the helm, Jock," said the Scoutmaster. "I'll give you the course until we arrive off the entrance to the harbour. The sooner the better."
"Did I hit him too hard, sir?" asked Desmond anxiously. "I simply had to do it."
"That's nothing," replied the Scoutmaster reassuringly. "A tap on the head wouldn't hurt his thick skull. It's the quantity of the English Channel down his throat that's causing the trouble."
The mysterious youth did not recover consciousness until the Spindrift entered Dartmouth Harbour, and tied up alongside the quay abreast of the boat-pond.