Two miles to the nor'east glimmered the harbour lights of Sablesham—a sight that surprised Peter considerably. He had been under the impression that the Puffin had drifted to the east'ard. Instead she had drifted to the sou'west, and was now aground on the Tinker Shoal.
But there was no time to be lost. The motor fired at the first swing. Craddock put the reverse lever hard back. Frothy water swirled past the yacht's sides from stern to stem, but although the Puffin trembled under the pulsations of the motor she showed no sign of slipping off into deeper water.
"She's on," declared the stranger. "Mind your head."
He sprang aft, uncleated the main-sheet and removed the boom-crutch. The boom, together with the gaff and snowed mainsail, was now held only by the topping-lift. With a heave the boom was swung out until it was nearly at right angles to the side.
"Get outside the shrouds and shake her," commanded the stranger briskly. "I'll bear a hand with the sweep."
Listing under the uneven balance of the heavy boom, and with Peter's weight hanging over the side, the Puffin lay well down until her rail was within a foot of the water. At the same time the stranger, standing in the bows, thrust with all his might at the end of a fifteen-feet oar, while the motor was racing at full speed astern.
"She's moving," panted the stranger.
Peter could hear the metal keel grating over the gravel—slowly but surely.
Once or twice the yacht held up, but the detention was only temporary.
"She's off!" shouted the stranger, putting down the sweep and coming aft. "I'll take the helm. Keep her going astern for a bit."