The crews of the two boats were already at the pier-head, black oilskinned figures, looking like ghostly familiars in the grey light. Both craft had their engines running, the fumes from the exhausts rising strongly in the cold air. From the stern of each boat flew the White Ensign, while as a distinguishing pennant each displayed the "International F" from the short iron mast abaft the fore-deck. Then came a grim reminder that there were war risks even on a coastal voyage. Before embarking every man had to give his name to the signalman on the pier-head, in order that their next-of-kin should be promptly informed if the boats met with disaster and the crews failed to return. "All ready?" "All ready, sir!" "Cast off!" With a slight jerk, as the clutch was slipped in, the 35-footer gathered way, her White Ensign temporarily enveloped in the bluish haze of the exhaust. A slight touch on the wheel steadied her on her helm, and soon the white signal-house on Sableridge Pier was a misty wraith in the darkness. Half a cable's length astern followed the second boat, her sergeant-coxwain, unused to the science of navigation, although he knew how to handle a small craft, keeping station with the utmost fidelity. At that distance she was a mere indistinct grey wedge, her position chiefly indicated by the "bone in her teeth", otherwise the creamy froth leaping from her knife-like bows and thrown wide on either side by her pronounced flare. Ahead the Bar Buoy winked its friendly greeting. No other light was visible in that quarter, and steering for that particular light was "not good enough", when on either hand of the narrow channel were dangerous sandbanks, on the fringes of which the surf was pounding heavily. It was on this account that Derek kept looking astern. Over the bobbing canopy and beyond the fluttering ensign were two white lights, one several feet higher than the other, and actually four hundred yards apart. These were the only lights ashore, and were permitted when the exhibition of any other illuminant would result in a fine not exceeding £500. In short, they were the harbour leading lights, and as long as a mariner kept them in line, either when entering or leaving the fairway, he could carry on in absolute confidence, scorning the hidden dangers on either hand. The Bar Buoy at last! Giving the boat starboard helm Derek swung her round until her head pointed due east. Already his cap and oilskins were running with moisture, and the salt spray was stinging his face and making his eyes smart despite the scanty protection afforded by the "dodger". "Hardly so comfortable as my old 'bus," thought Daventry; "but it's jolly exhilarating. Now then, old lady, let's see how you take that one!"