All plain sail was set, the anchor was weighed, and then main and mizzen topsails were sent aloft. Finally, the spinnaker was set with the tack at the bowsprit-end. In fact, every stitch of canvas that could be set was brought into use. It was a delightful sail. On the starboard hand the crew could enjoy a close view of the well-wooded Isle of Wight, while to port they could discern an expanse of the New Forest and the entrance to Southampton Water. Through Cowes Roads the _Kestrel_ tore with wind and tide. Here they saw for the first time the Mecca of the yachting world with its swarm of pleasure craft of all sizes and types either anchored or under way. Sailing yachts, motor craft, pleasure steamers thronged the Roads; while further out liners, tramps, and warships added to this picture of merchant activity. There were aeroplanes and flying boats manœuvring, the latter “taking off” from the surface of the water with surprising ease. Just abreast of the Old Castle Point buoy, Brandon called attention to a couple of cutters, both of which flew the burgee with the _fleur de lys_. They were on a converging course to that of the _Kestrel_, and in all probability they would soon come within hailing distance. But Brandon did not wait for that. Producing a pair of hand flags, he proceeded to semaphore the approaching craft. “They are Sea Scouts making for the Jamboree, sir,” he announced. “One is from Poole, the other from Weymouth. I’ll ask them if they’ve seen the _Merlin_ pass, since they brought up in Cowes Harbour last night.” The reply was in the negative; but, the Poole cutter’s signaller added, a large motor yacht passed making for the east’ard with two Sea Scouts’ galleys in tow. “It looks as if we’re going to be a merry party,” observed Symington. “All roads lead to Chichester Harbour. . . . What’s that place, sir?” He pointed to a large building flanked by two towers and standing on a hill covered with grass of a remarkably vivid hue. “That’s Osborne House,” replied the Scoutmaster. “It used to be a royal residence. Queen Victoria died there. See that long pier ahead, Talbot? That’s Ryde Pier. Steer to pass about a quarter of a mile from its head. We’re moving, by Jove! At this rate we’ll soon make Chichester Harbour.” The three yachts were now almost in line, the _Kestrel_ being to wind’ard. They were keeping practically level. If anything, the _Kestrel_ was gaining slightly. “We’re showing them a clean pair of heels, sir!” remarked Talbot, with no uncertain display of satisfaction. “Yes, because this wind suits us,” replied Mr. Grant. “If it headed us, and we had to beat to wind’ard, they’d whack us hollow. A ketch is no match for a cutter at that game, so I wouldn’t chip those fellows if I were you. They might have the laugh of us before very long.” “There’s a rowing boat with a Scout flag over there, sir,” reported Craddock.