The swarthy jib was bellying seaward. She was yearning for the water.
Kit rallied.
The slope was with them; the wind was with them; the very boat was with them. And the tide, running in with a splash, already flopped about her keel.
How soon would she float?
Two minutes might do it—or twenty.
CHAPTER LXXII
THE RACE FOR THE LUGGER
I
There was not a moment to be lost.
"Throw your musket aboard her!" cried Kit, bringing up against the lugger. "Now put your shoulder to and heave with a will! heave!"