The Sea Scouts brought their visit to a hasty termination. Scoutmaster and Scouts ran back to the Spindrift, the ropes were cast off, and the ketch tracked along the bank and through the wide open gates.
"Good luck!" shouted the crew of the Spanker as the Spindrift glided past.
"Jump aboard, lads!" ordered Mr. Graham.
Findlay and Hayes, who had been tracking the ketch to the gates, leapt upon her deck. Desmond was at the helm, while the Scoutmaster directed the setting of the canvas.
"Up staysail and mizzen first, lads!" he ordered. Slowly the Spindrift forged ahead, aided by the light south-easterly breeze. Not until mainsail and jib were set did she heel slightly to the wind, and the water began to ripple and gurgle as her stem cut its way seaward.
"Isn't this fine, sir!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader. "She's carrying just a little weather-helm. She's as stiff as a house."
"Let's hope she'll prove so in a hard blow," rejoined Mr. Graham, as he unfolded a chart and spread it upon the cabin top.
"Where are we making for to-day, sir?" asked Desmond.
"Only to Padstow," was the reply. "I want to test the Spindrift's capabilities before we undertake a long run. This coast isn't like the Essex shore. There aren't harbours every few miles. Keep her on Carnbeak, Desmond. That's the point right ahead—but I suppose you know that already."
"Do I not, sir!" said the Patrol Leader with a laugh. "I thought yesterday that we'd never pass it. The tides do run hot on this coast."