“And who is to sail the boat?” He added, “I am glad to see the rain. I hope it will still the wind; if it doesn't, we shall have to try something else, that is all.” “Pray, when do you undertake to land us, Mr. Dodd?” inquired Mr. Talboys, superciliously. “Well, sir, if it does not blow any harder, about eight bells.” “Eight bells? Why, that means midnight,” exclaimed Talboys. “Wind and tide both dead against us,” replied David, coolly. “Oh, Mr. Dodd, tell me the truth: is there any danger?” “Danger? Not that I see; but it is very uncomfortable, and unbecoming, for you to be beating to windward against the tide for so many hours, when you ought to be sitting on the sofa at home. However, next time you run out of port, I hope those that take charge of you will look to the almanac for the tide, and look to windward for the weather: Jack, the lugger lies nearer the wind than we do. “A little, sir.” “Will you take the helm a minute, Mr. Talboys? and _you_ come forward and unbend this.” The two sailors put their heads together amidships, and spoke in an undertone. “The wind is rising with the rain instead of falling.” “'Seems so, sir.” “What do you think yourself?” “Well, sir, it has been blowing harder and harder ever since we came out, and very steady.” “It will turn out one of those dry nor'easters, Jack.” “I shouldn't wonder, sir. I wish she was cutter-rigged, sir. A boat has no business to be any other rig but cutter; there ought to be a nact o' parliam't against these outlandish rigs.” “I don't know; I have seen wonders done with this lateen rig in the Pacific.” “The lugger forereaches on us, sir.” “A little, but, for all that, I am glad she is on board our craft; we have got more beam, and, if it comes to the worst, we can run. The lugger can't with her sharp stern. I'll go to the helm.” Just as David was stepping aft to take the helm, a wave struck the boat hard on the weather bow, close to the gunwale, and sent a bucket of salt water flying all over him; he never turned his head even--took no more notice of it than a rock does when the sea spits at it. Lucy shrieked and crouched behind the tarpaulin. David took the helm, and, seeing Talboys white, said kindly: “Why don't you go forward, sir, and make yourself snug under the folksel deck? she is sure to wet us abaft before we can make the land.” No. Talboys resisted his inclination and the deadly nausea that was creeping over him. “Thank you, but I like to see what is going on; and” (with an heroic attempt at sea-slang) “I like a wet boat.” They now fell in with the lugger again lying on the opposite tack, and a hundred yards at least to windward. Just before they crossed her wake David sang out to Jack: “Our masts--are they sound?” “Bran-new, sir; best Norway pine.” “What d'ye think?” “Think we are wasting time and daylight.” “Then stand _by_ the main sheet.” “Yes, sir.” _“Slack_ the main sheet.” “Ay, ay, sir.”