In a few minutes he returned with the green light gleaming exceptionally brightly. Curiously Peter watched his chum go for’ard, expecting every second to see the light vanish. It didn’t. Heavitree refixed the lamp and came aft. It gave no further trouble. The resourceful Sea Scout had removed the oil reservoir and had substituted his small electric flash lamp. The _Kestrel_ was now maintaining quite a good speed. Peter took it to be at least eight knots, but perhaps like most amateurs he was apt to overestimate the vessel’s rate. In spite of the curling, crested waves, she came through with hardly any water on her decks, and although at times the following seas appeared high and menacing, she rode them in a manner that gave everyone the greatest confidence in her seagoing qualities. “Light on the port bow, sir!” reported Wilson. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, then,” rejoined the Scoutmaster, after a prolonged look in the direction indicated. “There it is again, sir,” declared the lad. “Two quick flashes!” “I see them, too,” added Talbot. “So do I,” agreed Mr. Grant. “Well, now we know where we are, more or less. That’s the Eddystone.” He took a rough compass bearing and went below to apply the reading to the chart. The result rather surprised him. According to the calculation, the _Kestrel_ ought to have been farther to the south’ard. Either there was considerable deviation of the compass, or else the yacht had been carried northwards by a tidal current. Leeway did not enter into the problem, as the _Kestrel_ had been running free—except for two brief intervals—from the time she picked up the breeze. It was something to be able to pick up the Eddystone light, but the knowledge alone could not determine the _Kestrel’s_ position. A second bearing cutting the first as near as possible at right angles would fix that. By the aid of his night glasses, the Scoutmaster swept the horizon away to the nor’ard, hoping to pick up St. Catherine’s light at the entrance to Fowey Harbour. But the night was still hazy, and the light was invisible. A tramp steamer passed at about a cable’s length to port. The moon emerging from a bank of scudding clouds showed her plunging heavily into the head seas. Frequently showers of glistening spray completely hid her bows and flew high over her bridge. Yet the _Kestrel_, flying before the wind, was making easy weather of it.