Just a capful of wind, and Dan shook loose the linen, and a straight shining streak with specks of foam shot after us. The mast bent like eel-grass, and our keel was half out of the water. Faith belied her name, and clung to the sides with her ten finger-nails; but as for me, I liked it. “Take the stick, Georgie,” said Dan, suddenly, his cheeks white. “Head her up the wind. Steady. Sight the figure-head on Pearson’s loft. Here’s too much sail for a frigate.” But before the words were well uttered, the mast doubled up and coiled like a whip-lash, there was a report like the crack of doom, and half of the thing crashed short over the bows, dragging the heavy sail in the waves. Then there came a great laugh of thunder close above, and the black cloud dropped like a curtain round us: the squall had broken. “Cut it off, Dan! quick!” I cried. “Let it alone,” said he, snapping together his jack-knife; “it’s as good as a best bower-anchor. Now I’ll take the tiller, Georgie. Strong little hand,” said he, bending so that I didn’t see his face. “And lucky it’s good as strong. It’s saved us all. My God, Georgie! where’s Faith?” I turned. There was no Faith in the boat. We both sprang to our feet, and so the tiller swung round and threw us broadside to the wind, and between the dragging mast and the centre-board drowning seemed too good for us. “You’ll have to cut it off,” I cried again; but he had already ripped half through the canvas, and was casting it loose. At length he gave his arm a toss. With the next moment, I never shall forget the look of horror that froze Dan’s face. “I’ve thrown her off!” he exclaimed,——“I’ve thrown her off!”