The squall came. In spite of the canvas shaking as the wind “spilled” it, the ketch heeled till her lee rail was awash; then, recovering, she leapt forward like a racehorse as Peter cautiously took a strain on the mainsheet. At a warning shout, Mr. Grant hurried up from below, saw what Craddock had done, and nodded approval. “She’s as stiff as a house,” he exclaimed reassuringly. “All the same, we’ll have the mizzen sail off of her while it’s still light . . . and the big jib as well. Bear a hand, Brandon, to get our patient below. He may get knocked about if he remains here.” The injured man was showing signs of returning consciousness. He moaned as he was being lifted, opened his eyes, and gazed blankly into the Scoutmaster’s face. “You’re all right,” said Mr. Grant consolingly. The patient closed his eyes and gave no further sign of movement. With difficulty, owing to the erratic motion of the yacht, they carried him down the narrow companion way and into the Scoutmaster’s cabin. While this was being done Craddock put the _Kestrel_ into the wind and hove-to, while canvas was being reduced. Stowing and furling the mizzen sail was accomplished with little difficulty; but the task of taking in the No. 1 jib and substituting the No. 3 took some doing. The yacht pitched so violently in the rapidly rising sea that Heavitree and Symington, on whom this task devolved, were frequently waist-deep in water as they knelt on the fore-deck and struggled with out-haul and jib-halliards and sought to muzzle the fiercely flapping canvas. At last the business of reducing sail was accomplished, and the _Kestrel_ put on her former course. With whole mainsail, staysail, and baby-jib she made splendid weather of it. In fact, she could have stood more canvas; but in view of night approaching it was prudent to keep her well under control, especially as the now hard wind might increase in force. Meanwhile the side-lights had been placed in position. Both had been tested during the process of fitting out, but now for some unaccountable reason the starboard lamp refused to keep alight. “This is no light matter on a dark night,” said Heavitree. “No joke intended, Peter! Any good trying a handkerchief round the ventilation holes?” “Might do it,” replied Craddock. “It seems as if the thing isn’t getting enough air as it is. However, see what you can do.” Cautiously making his way for’ard, Heavitree grasped the shrouds with one hand and with the other removed the lamp from the screen. He had to take it into the saloon to relight it, and at the same time he wound his handkerchief loosely round the lower part of the lamp. Almost as soon as he regained the cockpit the light went out. “You’re whacked, old son!” exclaimed Craddock. “Am I—you see!” retorted Heavitree as he went below again with the extinguished lamp.