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." Not until the _Puffin_ was well clear of the dangerous shoal did Peter receive the order, "Full ahead." Round swung the yacht. Craddock watched with eager eyes to see what course the helmsman would take, until to his unspoken relief Peter saw that the _Puffin_ was heading straight for Sablesham Harbour, CHAPTER XIV ON THE TRACK OF THE "PUFFIN" AT 10 p.m. Scoutmaster Grant and his seven Sea Scouts began their five-mile tramp to Sablesham. The rain was descending in torrents. Behind them were the sizzling embers of the Lydiard Scouts' camp-fire. The sing-song had been a tremendous success, and it was not until the guests had partaken of refreshment that the rain came on in earnest. It took more than a torrential downpour to damp the spirits of the Sea Scouts. Their clothing was saturated. They had no oilskins with them. Water squelched in their shoes at every step. It was pitch-dark, and the road was almost ankle-deep in chalky mud. Yet they whistled blithely. An hour and ten minutes later they were crossing the swing-bridge. From there it was impossible to see more than a couple of hundred yards. The furthermost of the gas lamps were blotted out in the watery atmosphere. "Nearly there!" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "Thank goodness we'll have a dry roof over our heads. Craddock will be wondering why we are late. I wonder if----"