Suddenly, Hayes was awakened by a slight jar upon the yacht\'s hull. He looked up, sleepily, at the patch of greyish light filtering through the starboard scuttle. Already dawn was breaking.

"Swell of a passing steamer, I guess," he said to himself, as he replaced his head on the pillow.

Another slight shock roused him before he had fallen asleep again.

"It must be the dinghy bumping alongside," he declared. "I suppose I ought to drop a bucket over her stern. That\'ll keep her clear."

Still drowsy, the Sea Scout rolled out of his bunk, and made his way through the sliding-door into the cabin. Although the yacht was moving slightly, the floor was sloping decidedly to port. Hayes thought that this was rather unusual, but in his semi-torpid state the fact did not trouble him.

Treading softly with his bare feet, so as to avoid disturbing the slumbering occupants of the cabin, Hayes went on deck with the laudable intention of preventing the dinghy grinding against the yacht\'s side. But, when he gained the open air, he could only stand stock still and rub his eyes in sheer amazement.

The Spindrift was not in the spot where she had been anchored the previous night. She was not even in the harbour; she was outside of it and about half a mile from the entrance. Hayes could make out both Dartmouth and Kingswear Castles in the growing light. She was aground, listing slightly to port, with some jagged rocks showing just above the water within a dozen yards of her starboard side.

Hayes was now fully awake. His first step was to rouse his companions.

"Below there!" he shouted. "We\'re adrift!"

"Shut up, you noisy blighter," replied Desmond sleepily. "It\'s not time to turn out. Go to your bunk and stop skylarking."

Mr. Graham, too, stirred himself and added to the protest, only to fall fast asleep again in a valiant endeavour to fulfil his promise of "sleeping the clock round".

"G-r-r-r-r!" gurgled Findlay. "Chuck it, you idiot."

But Hayes was not to be "choked off". Descending the cabin steps he gripped the Patrol Leader by the shoulder.

"I\'m not joking, Desmond," he said earnestly. "We are adrift. We\'re aground right outside the harbour."

Desmond rolled out of his cot.

"Right-o," he replied, glancing at the dog-tired Scoutmaster. "Hike Jock out of it. Don\'t bother to disturb Mr. Graham."

Findlay was turned out without ceremony, and the three lads hurriedly threw on their clothes. By the time they went on deck, the tide had fallen considerably, leaving the yacht still heeling slightly to port.

"By Jove!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader, sounding with a boat-hook. "We\'ve done it this time. We\'re properly in the soup. There\'s three feet of water to starboard, and I can\'t touch bottom on the other side. If she rolls right over she\'ll be done for. Bring the dinghy alongside, Hayes. Jock, bear a hand with the kedge. We\'ll have to lay it out and get a strain on the warp by the throat halliards. It\'s our only chance."

The Sea Scouts worked like Trojans. The kedge was carried off to the rocks and a strain taken up on the mast by means of a tackle. So great was the tension that the port shrouds were as taut as fiddle-strings, while those on the starboard side were quite limp. But it was impossible to get the yacht on an even keel. All that could be done was done—and that was to prevent the Spindrift toppling over the ledge into deep water.

"Now," continued the Patrol Leader, "no jumping about. Keep on the starboard side as much as possible. Bring the dinghy aft: we may want her in a hurry."

"I suppose we can just breathe," remarked Findlay jocularly. "That wouldn\'t disturb the balance, would it?"

The others laughed. The mental tension was broken.

"You can breathe as hard as you jolly well like, Jock," replied the Patrol Leader. "But you won\'t develop anything like the horse-power that my heart did just now. It was thumping against my ribs like a sledge hammer."

For some minutes the lads remained silent, watching the falling tide. Fortunately there was not a breath of wind and the sea was calm, save for the ripples as the ebb poured through the narrow entrance to the harbour.

"What beats me," remarked Desmond, knitting his brows, "is how we got here. I suppose the anchor tripped. It\'s a wonder we didn\'t foul any of the other yachts and vessels in the harbour."

"I suppose the chain didn\'t part?" suggested Jock. "We can see," replied the Patrol Leader. "Jump into the dinghy. There\'s still enough water for her." The three Sea Scouts boarded the little cockleshell and paddled towards the bow of the Spindrift. By this time the yacht was well out of water, resting in a shallow groove in a flat-topped, weed-covered shelf of rock. Only six inches of slippery rock separated the keel from a sheer drop into twelve or fifteen feet of water, and, should the supporting tackle give, there was nothing to prevent the yacht falling with a terrific crash into the depths.

"I say," exclaimed Findlay, pointing to the Spindrift\'s bows. "Who anchored the yacht last night?"

"You did," replied Desmond and Hayes simultaneously.

"Then a pretty mess I made of it," admitted Findlay frankly. "Look at it!"

There was the anchor, which was supposed to have been well down into the mud on the bed of the harbour, one of its flukes hung up on the yacht\'s bobstay, while a bight of fifteen fathoms of chain trailed uselessly across the rocks.

Back to the yacht the lads went, exercising the greatest caution in getting on board. The sight of the yacht viewed from bows-on had not allayed their fears, but rather the reverse. Almost high and dry she looked immense, and it seemed impossible that the two-inch warp could preserve the balance of the dangerously listing craft.

"We\'d better wake Mr. Graham, after all, I think," said Desmond. "He can do nothing—nor can we—but if the yacht did fall over he\'d be drowned like a blind kitten in a bucket."

The Patrol Leader went below and touched Mr. Graham\'s shoulder.

"Hello, up and dressed!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "What\'s the time? Why, it\'s only half-pas............