The rope held. Half a dozen lusty men and youths were tailing on to it. The pressure was terrific. The sand, washed down by the undertow, rasped Craddock’s face, hands, and knees. His lungs seemed on the point of bursting. Another wave was rearing its formidable crest. Peter eyed it with apprehension. Magnified in the fog, it looked higher than it actually was, but the power behind it was none the less. He wondered whether he could survive the threatened hammering of the tremendous thunderous mass. He was dimly conscious of vague forms surrounding him, grasping arms and legs. Still he held on to his helpless burden, and, since they could not be separated, the pair were literally dragged beyond the reach of the breaker. It fell harmlessly, and, like a monster baulked of its prey, retired growling and muttering to merge into the turmoil of tumbling breakers. CHAPTER XXV Home Again When Peter came to himself he was lying on the wet sand with his head pillowed on a greatcoat. Something warm was licking his face. It was Molly. Overjoyed at her master’s return, she could not be restrained from showing her joy and relief in true doggie fashion, and her delight redoubled when the Sea Scout opened his eyes and attempted to sit up. “Good old Peter!” exclaimed Brandon. “How do you feel?” “As if I’d been sand-papered,” replied Craddock, with perfect truthfulness. Then, recalling the reason for his present plight, he asked, “Where’s the fellow we rescued? Is he dead?” “He’s alive,” declared the Patrol Leader, and, turning to Mr. Grant, he asked in a low voice, “Can I tell him?” “Yes, do,” answered the Scoutmaster. “Do you know who the fellow is?” continued Brandon. “It’s Carlo Bone—Blueskin.” Peter sat up. “Really?” he rejoined. “Where is he?” “In a farm-house with the others,” replied the Patrol Leader. “All the crew of the vessel have been accounted for. The patrols are being withdrawn. I say, old man, can you walk or have we to carry you?” “I’ll walk,” declared Craddock stoutly. They assisted him to his feet. He felt rather groggy, for he had swallowed a fair quantity of salt water and had been considerably bruised in his struggle with the waves. Walking required a great effort, and he was glad to take his chum Brandon’s arm. “I reckon this night’s work means a Silver Cross for you, my lad,” declared Heavitree. “Think so?” rejoined Peter. “I say; now I tumble to it. That bucket lashed to our rudder. Blueskin must have done that. Won’t he look bluer than he is when he finds out we know.” And Craddock went off into fits of hysterical laughter and sat down inertly in a muddy lane. The Sea Scouts carried him after that. They did not take him on board that night. Instead, he was put to bed in the shore hospital tent, where Mr. Grant remained watching by his side. Next morning Peter awoke feeling quite his normal self except for the fact that his limbs were a bit stiff.