“We’re aground!” exclaimed Talbot.
Brandon glanced over the side. The yacht was still carrying way and lifting easily to the waves.
“There’s plenty of water everywhere,” he replied. “We must have struck something, though.”
The jar brought Mr. Grant on deck to see what was amiss.
“We struck something pretty heavy,” he remarked. “Nip below, Peter, and look under the floorboards in the fo’c’sle. She may have strained a plank.”
Craddock did so. He had not been gone more than a few seconds when the reason of the alarm became evident. About a hundred yards on the starboard quarter an enormous porpoise broke surface, followed by another. Both animals were badly scared, for they promptly dived and were not seen again.
Presently Peter returned with the information that the yacht was as tight as a bottle. Thanks to her heavy build she had escaped damage, although a vessel with slighter scantlings might easily have had her bow planking stove in.
At length Hengistbury Head was brought abeam, and for ten minutes the Kestrel had a pretty stiff hammering over Christchurch Ledge. By this time the Needles and the multi-coloured cliffs of Alum Bay were clearly discernible, while right ahead rose the slender tower of Hurst Castle lighthouse.
“Look!” exclaimed Talbot. “Isn’t that the Merlin?”
He pointed to a yacht about three miles dead ahead. Brandon brought the binoculars into action.