By rights the headsails should have been correspondingly reduced; for, when the sheets were trimmed, and the Arran Dhu bounded ahead like a plunging dray-horse, she carried a decided amount of lee-helm. But for the enormous leverage of her keel, and the grip afforded by her generous amount of draught, she might have been thrown on her beam-ends. As it was the old "plank-on-edge" type of craft possessed one advantage denied to her more modern and easier handled sister—she could be driven with lee-helm without being either dismasted or capsized.
The way the stiff old packet bored her way through the rapidly rising seas gave returning confidence to the somewhat frightened lads. Each would have freely admitted under self-examination that he "had the wind up badly", but wild horses would not have dragged that admission from his lips. And with restored confidence came an inexplicable sensation of exhilaration.
The squall had given place to a hard wind from the east'ard—one of those summer "blows" which meteorological science may be able to explain, but is rarely able to forecast.
Showers of spray and frequently "green-uns" flew over the weather bow, while the lee-bow wave, frothing and hissing, was a sight to gladden the heart of any deep-sea sailorman. Astern the dinghy, straining at her painter, was tearing madly, her bluff bows high in the air on the crest of a wave that followed but never overtook the plunging counter of the hard-driven Arran Dhu.
With feet pressed firmly against the lee side of the cockpit, and with tautened arms grasping the quivering tiller, Bernard steered through the chaotic waves, for with the sudden change of wind the tide was now weather-going, raising a short, steep sea.
A glance at the compass showed him that the course was now sou'sou'-east. At any rate it was a fairly safe course, and not one that might eventually pile the old yacht upon the iron-bound Cornish coast. He knew that more than a hundred miles lay between the Arran Dhu and the French coast, and that the deeper the water the more regular the seas were likely to be. He had faith in Worth's dictum: "The sea is kind to little boats", even if they are sailed by raw and rash amateurs.
Bernard, steering by the luff of the mainsail as naturally as if he had been at sea for years—it was the innate instinct that makes seamen that was asserting itself—was fully occupied with what was ahead. Geoff, for the present able to "stand easy" was watching the dinghy. Even in the darkness there was something that told him that all was not well with her. She was yawing badly. No longer riding on the crest of the following wave, she was showing a decided tendency to overrun the yacht. At one moment she would sweep forward until her bows seemed as if they were about to come down with an appalling crash upon the Arran Dhu's counter. At the next she would drop astern until with a savage twang the tautened painter pulled her up with a jerk, to repeat the charging tactics.
One of those sudden jerks proved her undoing. Instead of lifting her sharp bows to the crested wave she plunged into it. A sea filled her. She rolled completely over. The strain on the painter was enormous. Something had to go. The Manila stood the stupendous drag, but the cleat on the Arran Dhu's cockpit coaming was wrenched from its fastening. For a few moments Geoff had a fleeting glimpse of the dinghy's keel. Then the derelict was lost to sight in the darkness.
"Dinghy's gone!" shouted Geoff.
His chum merely grunted. He had other things to think about. Ahead was a tremendous crested wave. Viewed from the comparatively low level of the cockpit it seemed as if it would overwhelm the yacht. Down it bore, rapidly, menacingly. The Arran Dhu buried her bowsprit into the frothing mass. Green water surged as far aft as the saloon skylight; yet, like a noble mastiff, the old boat shook herself clear, staggered as a fresh blast struck her, and resumed her onward rush.
From that moment the weather began to ease up. The wind piped down considerably. Once more rain began to fall, beating down the crests of the waves, until, as the first streaks of dawn appeared on the distant horizon, the summer storm had blown itself out.
It was a dawn! Away to the east and nor'east the sky was of a vivid crimson hue. To lee'ard ragged wisps of indigo-coloured clouds were scudding in a vain attempt to overtake the shades of receding night. As far as the eye could reach there was nothing to be seen but an expanse of sullen rollers meeting an unbroken horizon. Land was nowhere in sight—not that the chums expected to see it. They would have been considerably astonished had they done so.
"How about shaking out those reefs?" asked Geoff.
"Best not, yet awhile," replied Bernard. "There's more bad weather coming, judging by the sunrise. We'll put her about on the starboard tack, I vote we make Plymouth Sound and stop there till it looks more settled. Take her, Geoff, I'll go below and get some hot grub."
"Heave her to, first," suggested Geoff. "I vote we both go below, and shift into dry gear. Helm's a-lee!"
As if tired after her decidedly speedy performance, the Arran Dhu swung slowly into the wind. With headsheets to wind'ard she lay to, pitching gently.
Lashing the tiller and leaving the yacht to her own devices, both lads dived into the cabin, and rummaged in their respective kit-bags for dry clothing.
Considering the hammering she had undergone the yacht was fairly tidy below. The gimballed lamps were still burning feebly in the growing daylight. Some of the cushions had been thrown from the settees, and were lying sodden in a couple of inches of water that surged across the linoleum-covered floor. A few things in the galley had been displaced, but being of enamelled iron had come off lightly.
"She'll go through anything after that," declared Geoff enthusiastically.
His chum, struggling into a dry sweater, mumbled something to the effect that his sentiments were in accord with those of the speaker.
"She's all right with plenty of sea-room," he added. "But she's a pig when it comes to turning into a crowded harbour. . . . Where's the methylated, old son?"
Evidently the tin containing this necessary commodity had gone adrift during the blow. Both lads were engaged in a hunt amidst the somewhat disordered gear in the galley when a peculiar jarring sound, different from those they had previously heard on board, attracted their attention.
"What's that?" asked Bernard.
Before his chum could reply, the whole yacht quivered. She seemed to leap bodily in a vertical direction for at least six inches. It was somewhat akin to the sudden and unexpected starting of a lift. Then, almost before they realized what was happening, the lads were hurled against the fortunately unlighted stove, to the accompaniment of a shower of tinned goods from the pantry.
The Arran Dhu was on her beam ends.
Hastily the lads regained their feet, dazed by their peculiar surroundings. Instinct prompted them to make a bolt for the deck, but it was easier said than done. Between the galley and the saloon there had been a sliding door six feet in height and two in breadth. Now there was an aperture two feet in height and six in breadth, one of the doorposts forming the sill and inclining sixty degrees or more to the perpendicular.
Over the ledge the lads contrived to clamber, finding a footing on the rise of the starboard settee. Followed an indecorous scramble over the swing-table and a combined gymnastic display in order to negotiate the almost horizontal companion ladder.
At length they gained the cockpit, planted their feet on one coaming and rested their backs against the other. In that position they were able to take in their immediate surroundings.