Mr. Grant did not join in the chorus of appreciation. It was yet too soon to shout. He had his doubts on the ability of the little motor to carry out its heavy task; for, although both yachts were moving in a southerly direction at about five knots, the now strong flood tide was setting in a nor’-easterly direction at a good seven miles an hour. The question that arose was whether the _Merlin_ and her tow could draw clear of the Race in time; although there was some consolation in the fact that the yachts were no longer in danger of being carried into the centre of that tempestuous waste of water. Almost imperceptibly the _Kestrel_ began to feel the influence of the broken waves. Soon she began to pitch and roll. So did the _Merlin_, to the accompaniment of a series of heavy jerks on the towing hawser. “Why, the Race is coming towards us!” remarked Symington. “No, it isn’t,” rejoined Brandon drily. “We’re going towards it. Hang on to something solid, you fellows. We’ll be getting wet shirts in a brace of shakes. . . . You all right, sir? Mind that arm!” The fellows on the _Merlin_ had by this time noticed the danger that threatened them. Two of her crew hurriedly paid out more hawser, an act that at first looked as if the _Merlin_ was about to cast off her well-nigh helpless consort. Some of the former’s crew who had been sitting comfortably on the fore-deck came aft hurriedly when they saw the wall of breaking water approaching. A minute later and both yachts were in the thick of it. True, it was but the tail end of the dreaded Race, but the sight of the agitated mass of water was none the less awesome. At one moment the _Merlin_ was towing the _Kestrel_ through a calm sea; at the next both craft, pitching, heeling, and staggering, were being assailed by the furious waves. Again and again the _Kestrel_ dipped her bowsprit, flung her bows high as her stern dropped into the trough of the sea. Spars and solid gear rattled, canvas shook and flapped furiously as boom and gaff, bringing up with disconcerting jerks, threatened to shake the mast out of her, the while the _Merlin_, similarly assailed, was doing her best to win through. Suddenly a particularly vicious breaker surged over her quarter. The motor stopped. Both yachts were now helpless in the grip of the dreaded overfalls. CHAPTER XV “To be Returned in Due Course” The situation was desperate. The _Merlin_ was now a source of peril to the yacht she had done her best to aid. There was no wind. The fiercely flapping canvas was useless; equally out of the question was it to attempt to make use of the oars, for at one moment the blades would be high in the air, at another buried by the rush of the irregular and foaming waves. Held by the towing hawser, the two yachts were in momentary danger of colliding as they swung round almost parallel to each other and with less than five yards of chaotic water between them.