The canvas groaned and shuddered at the furious blast, while the jack-yard topsail blew out like a banner. Vainly Craddock, hanging on like grim death, thrust the tiller hard down. The _Thetis_ refused to answer to her helm. Sheets of white-crested water flew completely over the cabin-top, wetting the mainsail half-way up to the hounds. As for Mr. Grant and Mr. Clifton, all they could do was to grip the nearest object of a substantial nature and await developments. It was impossible to release the head sheets, since the lee waterways were more than knee-deep. Above the noise of the elements came a report like the bark of a quick-firer. A cloth of the mainsail had been slit from top to bottom. Simultaneously the clew of the jib carried away, and the sail flapping violently in the wind, added to the deafening din. That proved a blessing in disguise. The carrying away of the jib assisted the _Thetis_ to come up into the wind. More like a submarine than a yacht, she sluggishly shook herself clear of the water and began to gather way. The worst was now over. The squall was of short duration, and although the _Thetis_ was travelling fast, she was no longer in danger of being capsized or dismasted. Yet in all conscience the damage was serious. "Where's Rex?" shouted Mr. Grant, knowing that the sheep dog had been lying under the lee of the cabin skylight. "Rex is all right," replied the dog's owner reassuringly. "He's a knowing customer. Bolted down below a good twenty seconds before the squall came. Righto, Peter, I'll take the helm." A couple of short barks came from below. Mr. Clifton turned to the Sea Scout. "Nip below, Peter," he said, "and see what's wrong. I know the meaning of that bark." Craddock hurried down the companion-ladder. The saloon was in a state of confusion. The heel of the yacht during the squall was too great for the maximum inclination of the swing-table, consequently the tea-things had slid off and were lying in a disordered heap on the floor, together with the best part of the ship's library and the cushion of the wind'ard bunk. But it was not for that that Rex had given alarm. The violent motion had unshipped the Primus stove from its gimbals and the fierce blue flame had burnt a considerable part of the fo'c'sle floor, notwithstanding the wet state of the boards. It was owing to the latter circumstance that the fire was not more serious. As it was, Peter replaced the stove, taking care to release the air and quickly beat out the flames with a damp towel. CHAPTER XXIV OVERBOARD THE _Thetis_, although out of immediate danger, was in a pitiable plight. The wind was still fresh and the sea had worked up into quite a nasty turmoil. The damaged jib had already been lowered and unshackled from the traveller, but the jackyard topsail still fluttered bannerwise from the mainmast head. The torn mainsail, too, was shaking violently as the wind whistled through the long rent in the centre cloth.