Desmond set to work with a will to wash up the plates and dishes and to stow them away. This done—it was hot work in the confined space, what with the sun shining on deck and the heat of the stove below—the Patrol Leader felt more tired than before.
Lowering one of the cots, and using a sail-bag for a pillow, Desmond turned in. For a while his toe throbbed painfully, then the desire for sleep overcame every other sensation, and he was soon in a deep, dreamless slumber.
Ten minutes later Tom Truscott and Dick Wilde, part-owners of the 8-ton, centre-board ketch Spanker, came hurrying along the canal bank to the accompaniment of a series of exhortations to, "'Urry up if yer want to get through afore yon schooner locks in," from the energetic lock-keeper.
Both men were young, hefty, full of action, and keen yachtsmen. They had come "round the Land", and were making their way by easy stages to Penarth. Three days previously they had put into Bude through stress of weather, and were about to set sail for Lundy Island and the South Wales coast.
There was little time to be lost. Men on the breakwater were tracking-in a topsail schooner, and, as it was close on high water, the vessel was coming straight into the canal basin. Directly the gates were open there was an opportunity for the Spanker to go out under headsails before the limited expanse was still further impeded by the arrival of the topsail schooner.
Truscott and Wilde were deft hands at their work. They went about it with the minimum of noise. Since the yacht was moored alongside a wall, there were merely ropes to be cast off and headsails hoisted. Getting up the anchor to the accompaniment of the rattling of a winch and the clanking of chain cable did not figure in the operation. Almost as silently as a wraith the ketch glided through the lock, and, with the wind well on the port quarter, stood steadily seaward.
Truscott was at the helm, while his companion, after descending into the cabin and lowering the centre-board, proceeded to set first mizzen and then mainsail.
Half an hour later the north Cornish coast grew dim in the summer haze.
"Thought we'd have found more wind out here," remarked Truscott. "What about setting the topsail?"
"Right-o," assented Wilde. "Ten to one we'll have to douse it before we make Lundy. There's wind about—plenty of it before long."