Short, white waves rolled past, the canoe lurched and swerved, and Lister knew if she swung off across wind and sea she might capsize.

He must keep her running and let the combers split against her pointed stern.

The combers were getting large and their hissing tops surged by some height above the gunwale, but so long as he could keep her before them they would not come on board.

When her bows went up she sheered, as if she meant to shoot across the hollow left by the sea that rolled by.

He stopped her with a back-stroke and then drove hard ahead, for he must have speed to steer when the next sea came on.