He found Talbot at the helm. Symington and Wilson were trying with varying success to induce Molly to sit up and beg. The pup was willing enough, but the gentle motion of the yacht was too much for her. Also she had a not unfounded suspicion that the cat rescued from the Euterpe—young Marner had emphatically declined to take it with him—was secretly helping herself to the pup’s bowl of milk.
“Where’s Brandon?” asked Peter.
“Up aloft,” replied Talbot, glancing at the cross-trees.
“I’ll be down in half a shake, old son!” called out the Patrol Leader. “I’ve been trying to sight Portland Bill. It’s too far off yet.”
Craddock swept the horizon. Right astern and on the port quarter the red hills of Devon were merging into the mist of a hot summer’s day. Broad on the port beam, where the chalk cliffs make their first appearance on the south shores of England, land was no longer visible. Neither was it ahead. To starboard, Peter knew, was the broad expanse of the English Channel. For the first time in his life, Craddock was about to find himself out of sight of land. With the exception of Brandon, the other Sea Scouts were to have a similar experience: afloat with an unbroken horizon of sea and sky forming a complete circle of which the little Kestrel formed the exact centre. It was true that they had been out of sight of land during the fog, but that wasn’t the same thing. Had there been no fog they would have seen the rugged Cornish coast the whole time. Now, even in the clearest weather, they would probably be an hour or more out of sight of land until the wedge-shaped promontory of Portland showed up on the port bow.
Even as Craddock looked, a strange, muffled voice exclaimed:
“Isn’t it quite about time you fellows liberated me from this uncomfortable apartment?”
CHAPTER XIII
The Stowaway
For a few moments, Peter Craddock could hardly believe his sense of hearing. Wilson and Symington were also too astonished for words. They could only abandon their efforts to teach the pup tricks and gaze blankly at Craddock’s face. The first conclusion they arrived at was that Peter was indulging in a little ventriloquism at their expense.
Craddock, too, tried to “fix” the owner of the voice. With the exception of Heavitree the others were on deck. Carline was for’ard, lying in luxurious ease and basking in the sunshine on the fore-deck. Brandon was still aloft; Talbot at the helm; Symington and Wilson in the cockpit.