"Very well; you go," was the reply. "I'll stick here till daybreak. It can't be much longer, and I fancy the wind is dropping a lot."
"It is, but it was thick while it lasted. We must have struck the tail-end of a summer hurricane." With that Stirling went below, divested himself of his oilskins, and proceeded to mop up the salt water from the cabin floor. This done he made coffee, handing out a cup to his comrade in the cockpit.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Dawn's breaking; seas going down rapidly," replied the skipper optimistically. "The searchlights haven't been showing for the best part of half an hour."
"Boxer still standing by, I hope?"
"Rather. I can just see her outlines against the sky. It will be quite light in twenty minutes."
As soon as the grey light in the north-eastern sky was strong enough to enable things to be seen with sufficient clearness the Boxer bore up to leeward of the yacht. By means of a megaphone the lieutenant-commander shouted to Smith to get the sea-anchor aboard, and prepare to be taken in tow.
This, by reason of the sea that was still running fairly high, was a difficult task, and by the time the yacht was again wallowing astern of the destroyer it was a quarter to five.
For the next two hours good progress was made. Almost momentarily the waves grew calmer, so that the Boxer was able without undue risk to her charge to increase speed to twelve knots. Never before had the stanch old yacht travelled at that rate. Her following wave was a sight to behold, towering and threatening to break inboard over her pointed stern, yet never able to overtake her. After the night of anxiety both men found the motion most exhilarating, and there was every chance of sighting Old England's shores well before noon.
Suddenly Stirling grasped his companion's arm, then pointed to an object well above the skyline on the starboard bow.