Then the skipper gave the word, the helm was put down, the sheets slackened off, and, in a minute, the lugger was running dead before the wind with her sails boomed out, one on either side.

The cutter followed her example, and hoisted a large square sail.
The wind was blowing fresh now, and the sea was getting up.

Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and the sun shone brightly on the white heads which were beginning to show on the water.

The lugger was tearing along, occasionally throwing a cloud of spray over her bows, and leaving a track of white water behind her.
"I think she still gains on us," the captain said to the mate, who had taken the helm.
"Ay, she is gaining," the sailor agreed, "but the wind is freshening every minute.

She can't carry that topsail much longer.