Not a word was spoken save an occasional shout between the coxswain and our friend in the bows as to our course.
I could see by the receding lights of Kingstairs, which came into sight every time we mounted to the top of a wave, that we were not taking a straight course out, but bearing north, right in the teeth of the wind; and I knew enough of boats, I remember, to wonder with a shudder what would happen if we should chance to get broadside on to one of these waves.

Presently the man by us shouted--"You're right now.

Bill!" The coxswain gave some word of command, and we seemed to come suddenly into less broken water.

The men shipped their oars, and springing to their feet, as if by one motion, hoisted a mast and unfurled a triangular sail.
For a moment the flapping of the canvas half deafened us.

Then suddenly it steadied, and next minute the boat heeled over, gunwale down on the water, and began to hiss through the waves at a tremendous speed.
"Pass them younkers down here!" shouted Bill, when this manoeuvre had been executed.
Jack and I were accordingly sent crawling down to the stern under the benches, and presented ourselves in a pitiable condition before the coxswain.
He was not a man of many words at the best of times, and just now, when everything depended on the steering, he had not one to waste.
"Stow 'em away, Ben," he said, not looking at us, but keeping his eyes straight ahead.
Ben, another of our acquaintance, dragged us up beside him on the weather bulwarks, and here we had to stand, holding on to a rail, while the boat, with her sail lying almost on the water, rushed through the waves.
We were no longer among the breaking surf through which we had had to straggle at starting, although the sea still rolled mountains high, and threatened to turn us over every moment as we sailed across it.