“Better than ourselves, if she was manned. Luff! luff!--that's it!” And as the boat turned up to wind, sheets of spray and foam flew over her. “Master Charles hasn't his equal for steerin', if he wasn't alone. Keep her there!--now! steady, sir!” “Here's a squall coming,” cried Harcourt; “I hear it hissing.” Down went the peak, but scarcely in time, for the wind, catching the sail, laid the boat gunwale under. After a struggle, she righted, but with nearly one-third of her filled with water. “I'd take in a reef, or two reefs,” said the man; “but if she could n't rise to the say, she 'll fill and go down. We must carry on, at all events.” “So say I. It's no time to shorten sail, with such a sea running.” The boat now flew through the water, the sea itself impelling her, as with every sudden gust the waves struck the stern. “She's a brave craft,” said Harcourt, as she rose lightly over the great waves, and plunged down again into the trough of the sea; “but if we ever get to land again, I'll have combings round her to keep her dryer.” “Here it comes!--here it comes, sir!” Nor were the words well out, when, like a thunder-clap, the wind struck the sail, and bent the mast over like a whip. For an instant it seemed as if she were going down by the prow; but she righted again, and, shivering in every plank, held on her way. “That 's as much as she could do,” said the sailor; “and I would not like to ax her to do more.” “I agree with you,” said Harcourt, secretly stealing his feet back again into his shoes, which he had just kicked off. “It's freshening it is every minute,” said the man; “and I'm not sure that we could make the islands if it lasts.” “Well,--what then?” “There's nothing for it but to be blown out to say,” said he, calmly, as, having filled his tobacco-pipe, he struck a light and began to smoke. “The very thing I was wishing for,” said Harcourt, touching his cigar to the bright ashes. “How she labors! Do you think she can stand this?” “She can, if it's no worse, sir.” “But it looks heavier weather outside.” “As well as I can see, it's only beginnin'.” Harcourt listened with a species of admiration to the calm and measured sentiment of the sailor, who, fully conscious of all the danger, yet never, by a word or gesture, showed that he was flurried or excited. “You have been out on nights as bad as this, I suppose?” said Harcourt. “Maybe not quite, sir, for it's a great say is runnin'; and, with the wind off shore, we could n't have this, if there was n't a storm blowing farther out.” “From the westward, you mean?” “Yes, sir,--a wind coming over the whole ocean, that will soon meet the land wind.” “And does that often happen?”