The tow-rope was made fast, the moorings slipped. Very gently, by skilful use of the reverse gear, Mr. Carter allowed the yacht to gather way in the wake of the 4-h.p. motor boat. During the run down the harbour, Brandon kept all hands busily employed in casting loose mainsail and mizzen and hoisting the jib in stops ready to be broken out directly the _Kestrel_ was cast off. Thus engaged they failed to notice the relatively slow progress or the somewhat unusual swirl under the yacht’s stern. Nor were they aware of the presence of a highly exasperated deck-hand on board the S.S. _Lumberjack_, who consoled himself for the preliminary failure of his plans by the thought that perhaps the motor boat would not tow the _Kestrel_ right out to sea, but only just clear of St. Petrox. In that case there was still some hope that the yacht would pile herself up upon the tide-swept Verticals or perhaps the rugged Mewstone. “You’ve a lump of a craft there, Grant,” remarked Mr. Carter. “She’s heavier to tow than I thought; although this packet is only a four-horse motor boat.” “Yet she’s moving her all right,” added Mr. Grant. “Yes, with the tide. I doubt whether we are doing three knots. Has the _Kestrel’s_ compo. been scrubbed recently?” “Fresh on a week ago,” declared the Scoutmaster. “H’m,” commented Mr. Carter, “strange we aren’t doing better. A few days ago I gave a forty tonner a pluck in, and made quite easy work of it once I got her going. There’s the East Blackstone”—pointing to an isolated rock about half a mile away. “I’ll tow you inside the rock. There’s plenty of water and less tide running. You’re early yet for the up-Channel stream, but with the breeze you’ll stem the tide all right.” At the East Blackstone the tow-rope was cast off. Mr. Grant regained the _Kestrel_, and the crew gave a hearty cheer for the benefit of the ex-Scoutmaster. Sail was quickly made, and under all plain canvas the _Kestrel_ was steadied on her course for Portland Bill. Half an hour passed. The anchored motor boat was still unaccountably near. The _Kestrel_, in spite of the steady favourable breeze, was not going anything like as fast as she had done in a lighter wind. The Sea Scouts began to realise the fact and reluctantly they admitted that it was so. Even the dinghy’s painter was slack, whereas in this breeze the water ought to be foaming at her bows. “We are going slowly, sir,” remarked Craddock. “That’s what Mr. Carter said,” replied the Scoutmaster. “There’s no reason why we should as far as I can see, unless we’ve fouled a few lobster pots. Look over the bows and see.” Peter went for’ard and “laid out” along the bowsprit. He could see the yacht’s forefoot showing clearly through the pale green water. “All clear there, sir,” he reported. “I don’t see how anything could foul her rudder,” observed Mr. Grant. “The keel band projects sufficiently to prevent that; however, just look to make sure.” Craddock did so.