She did sail, after a fashion. She did not go along like the saucy vessel that had put out from T Dock less than a week before, not quite like a greased plank on edge or a girl sliding on ice, but she made headway. It was heart-breaking headway that promised to make a long voyage of the something like two hundred miles to Boston, but the crew had hopes--if the wind stayed to the east’ard. But the wind did not stay to the east’ard. After two days it hauled to the north-west, and they had to tack. They tacked to the north and they tacked to the south, always with a respectful eye to her weak side; but it was slow work. More, it was cold, and the seas that came aboard iced her up. And, having no rails to her, the crew had to be painfully careful or they would slide overboard. “And yet no great danger bein’ lost, for even with oilskins a man could swim as fast as this one’s sailin’. But it’s so blessed cold!” said Jerry. They were sighted several times and other vessels bore down, but the Skipper waved them off. “If they think because we’re short on sails and spars they’re goin’ to get salvage out of this one, we’ll fool ’em,” and onward he sailed with a dory, which they had picked up, lashed amidships. They ran out of grub and fuel. They had fitted out for market fishing, with ten days or two weeks as the probable length of the trip. They were now four weeks out, with Cape Cod not yet weathered. Something had to be done. Four times they had got all but abreast of the cape--four times the no’-wester had beaten them back. Under their rig they had to take whatever came. They could not force her around when around she would not go. Nobody murmured. They were enjoying themselves. For one thing they learned how Gerald made out with the bear, and Jerry read in his round voice of Gerald’s further adventures; and they would not have minded it much, though, to be sure, there was not much money in it for their families--but that was the luck of fishing--only they were cold and hungry. It was then that for the first time the Skipper hailed a vessel. She was one of the big liners, a fourteen-thousand tonner, bound out from Boston to Liverpool. Beside her huge hulk the little _Celestine_, with her ridiculous jury-rig, looked like a burlesque toy. But Coleman wasn’t apologizing for looks. [Illustration: Stood by and took them as they came down. --See p. 67.] “I know ye’ll be carryin’ the mail and in the divil’s own hurry, but we’re a little short of grub,” he explained when the steamer had come to a stop. “Our head steward doubts there’ll be oysters and ontrees enough for our seven o’clock dinner to-night, and if ye’ll stay hove-to for a half hour I’ll come under your lee and go aboard.” “All right. But how will you carry the stuff?” “Carry it, is it? Why, in the dory, to be sure.” “What? Put a dory over to-day?” “And why not?” “She’ll swamp.”