He set Toots and Hans to hoisting the anchor, while Harry, Bart and Jack shook out the sails.
The jib was run up first, and then the mainsail was hoisted, Barney, who was a skillful sailor, having taken the helm.
Strange to say, it seemed as if the wind had been waiting for them to make sail, for it arose promptly and filled the sails so that the Greyhound soon bore away on the starboard tack.
Out beyond the point the Fox, Lord Stanford’s yacht, had felt the wind first, and was already tacking close under the northern shore.
Frank went aft and stood near Barney, while he watched the actions of the Greyhound with no little anxiety.
He had no idea what sort of a boat he had purchased, and he could see that the Englishman’s yacht had a rakish, saucy look, as if it might be able to show him a clean pair of heels in a fair breeze.
Under Frank’s directions, the sails were trimmed and the Greyhound close hauled, as he wished to see how near he could run to the wind without falling off.
Although the wind was unfavorable, as it was not steady, coming in gusts now and then, Frank waited till fair headway had been obtained, and then had Barney luff till the course was close into the wind, which was held long enough to convince him that the Greyhound did not jibe easily.
“Good!” he exclaimed, with satisfaction. “I was afraid she might prove cranky. Hold her as close as you can, Barney, and not let her yaw. I believe she is a dandy against the wind. If she proves all right before the wind, we’ll give Lord Stanford a hot little run of it.”