It had been a narrow shave. Findlay and Hayes, who had been hanging on to the cockpit coaming, afterwards told Mr. Graham that the yacht's transom was within a couple of yards of the rocks. Had she struck, the terrific shock would have broken her back and she would have sunk like a stone.
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Mr. Graham. "That was a close thing. I'd like to meet the fellow in charge of that collier. I won't call him a Master. A sailorman wouldn't do a thing like that. I say, lads, where's our dinghy?"
CHAPTER XXIII
The Rebound of the Joke
In the excitement no one had given a thought to the dinghy. She had been made fast to the shrouds, and apparently the violent wash had caused her to break adrift.
She was now a good fifty yards to leeward, drifting slowly, but evidently uninjured. A portion of the painter still remained bent to the shroud, so there was some slight satisfaction in the knowledge that Hayes had not made a slippery hitch. The two-inch rope, almost new, had parted like pack-thread.
"I'm soaked as it is," said Desmond, kicking off his shoes. "Another little drop won't do me any harm! The oars are in the dinghy, aren't they, Hayes?"
The Sea Scout nodded. That was good enough for the Patrol Leader. The next instant he dived in over the side and began striking out for the errant dinghy.
The first twenty yards was a hard struggle, for the flood-tide was setting strongly athwart the swimmer's course, but, as soon as he was over the ledge on which the Spindrift had grounded, the cross-current was not so perceptible. There was now six feet of water over this part of the reef, but the long trailing kelp, which at low tide had been lying dormant on the rocks, was now rising vertically to within eighteen inches of the surface.