Marston acquiesced. After all, his business was to obey. "Oh, well," he said, "Charley and I had better get out on the booms." He beckoned the paid hand and they crawled along the deck. _Red Rose_ rolled savagely and main boom and spinnaker boom tossed their ends aloft. The spars must be kept down, lest they swing across, and Marston, clasping the varnished pole with arms and legs, crawled out as far as he dared. Sometimes he swung high above the combers that rushed past below; and sometimes swung down until his body was wet by the foam. He could hold on if Harry kept her straight, but if she swerved much the big sails would lurch across and he and Charley would hardly escape with broken bones. He looked aft. Wyndham's figure cut against the light; it was tense and his head was motionless, as if his glance was fixed. Marston knew he meant to bring _Red Rose_ in on her time allowance or sail her under. They drew round the head and reeled across a bay. A row of lights began to blink and two colored lanterns tossed. Marston saw the lights for a few moments when the spinnaker soared away from the boom. The race was nearly over, for the colored lights marked the flag-boat, anchored off the long iron pier. The committee had not given the yachts much room; perhaps they thought of their comfort and anchored the steamer near the beach so she would not roll about. Smart work would be needed to shorten sail before they struck the pier. A shadow touched the spinnaker and Marston looked astern. A swaying pyramid of canvas shut out the moon and foam leaped about a plunging hull. _Ptarmigan_ had crept up and would go past, but she was large and allowed _Red Rose_ some time. Marston could not remember how much she allowed; all he could do was to hold on, for his arms ached and his head began to swim. A few minutes would finish the race, and he wondered dully what would happen then. There were, perhaps, two hundred yards between the flag-boat and the pier; they ought to haul down the spinnaker now, but Harry would carry on. He saw _Ptarmigan_'s topsail tilt downwards and dark figures run about her deck. Her spinnaker collapsed like a torn balloon, but _Red Rose_ leaped on, pressed by straining sail. Then there was a flash, and the report of a gun rolled among the crags ahead. They drove into the smoke, speeding side by side with _Ptarmigan_, and the flash of another gun pierced the dark. Marston, crawling in-board, dropped into the cockpit as the flag-boat swept astern, and for the next few minutes he was desperately occupied.