Blanketed by the high wooded ground to starboard, the Spindrift was now making very little way. At intervals faint puffs of wind swept down upon the land-locked estuary, but the faint flood-tide was sweeping the yacht steadily inward.
"Down mainsail!" ordered Desmond. "Stand by to lower headsails and mizzen smartly. Bedford, you tend the for'ard warp; Hayes, look out for the quarter-rope—a bowline round the guardship's bollard as we go alongside, but check her gently."
Like a band of conspirators, the crew of the Spindrift prepared for the surprise of their chums on the guardship. The Ocean Bride was passed without attracting the attention of the Collinsons. Then her bows drew level with the stern of the guardship.
Desmond made a sign with his hand. Down fluttered the rest of the canvas, with hardly a sound, save for the cheep of a stiff running-block. Deftly the securing ropes were thrown and belayed. The Patrol Leader raised his hand again.
Instantly the crew yelled their hardest, making the wooded shore echo and re-echo to their ear-splitting Patrol call.
The effect was almost instantaneous. At every open lower-deck port, one, two, or three heads were thrust out—wide-eyed astonished Sea Scouts who could hardly grasp the fact that their comrades had returned from their long coast-wise voyage. And with them were Mr. Collinson and his wife.
"Caught you napping, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Graham.
"Spoilt my yarn, you mean," rejoined Mr. Collinson laughing. "I'll admit I kept their attention pretty well until you fellows raised that infernal din. That tore it! So you've brought the old ship round: what do you think of her?"
"A rattling good little craft," replied the Scoutmaster.
"Thought you'd find her so," rejoined Mr. Collinson. Then he looked up with a puzzled air. "I say, you've got a new stick?"