Still drowsy, the Sea Scout rolled out of his bunk, and made his way through the sliding-door into the cabin. Although the yacht was moving slightly, the floor was sloping decidedly to port. Hayes thought that this was rather unusual, but in his semi-torpid state the fact did not trouble him.
Treading softly with his bare feet, so as to avoid disturbing the slumbering occupants of the cabin, Hayes went on deck with the laudable intention of preventing the dinghy grinding against the yacht's side. But, when he gained the open air, he could only stand stock still and rub his eyes in sheer amazement.
The Spindrift was not in the spot where she had been anchored the previous night. She was not even in the harbour; she was outside of it and about half a mile from the entrance. Hayes could make out both Dartmouth and Kingswear Castles in the growing light. She was aground, listing slightly to port, with some jagged rocks showing just above the water within a dozen yards of her starboard side.
Hayes was now fully awake. His first step was to rouse his companions.
"Below there!" he shouted. "We're adrift!"
"Shut up, you noisy blighter," replied Desmond sleepily. "It's not time to turn out. Go to your bunk and stop skylarking."
Mr. Graham, too, stirred himself and added to the protest, only to fall fast asleep again in a valiant endeavour to fulfil his promise of "sleeping the clock round".
"G-r-r-r-r!" gurgled Findlay. "Chuck it, you idiot."
But Hayes was not to be "choked off". Descending the cabin steps he gripped the Patrol Leader by the shoulder.
"I'm not joking, Desmond," he said earnestly. "We are adrift. We're aground right outside the harbour."