“Is your honor used to a boat, or ought I to get another man with me?” asked the sailor.
“Trust me, my good fellow; I have had more sailing than yourself, and in more treacherous seas too,” said Harcourt, who, throwing off his cloak, proceeded to help the other, with an address that bespoke a practised hand.
The wind blew strongly off the shore, so that scarcely was the foresail spread than the boat began to move rapidly through the water, dashing the sea over her bows, and plunging wildly through the waves.
“Give me a hand now with the halyard,” said the boatman; “and when the mainsail is set, you 'll see how she 'll dance over the top of the waves, and never wet us.”
“She 's too light in the water, if anything,” said Harcourt, as the boat bounded buoyantly under the increased press of canvas.
“Your honor's right; she'd do better with half a ton of iron in her. Stand by, sir, always, with the peak halyards; get the sail aloft in, when I give you the word.”
“Leave the tiller to me, my man,” said Harcourt, taking it as he spoke. “You 'll soon see that I 'm no new hand at the work.”
“She's doing it well,” said the man. “Keep her up! keep her up! there's a spit of land runs out here; in a few minutes more we'll have say room enough.”
The heavier roll of the waves, and the increased force of the wind, soon showed that they had gained the open sea; while the atmosphere, relieved of the dark shadows of the mountain, seemed lighter and thinner than in shore.
“We 're to make for the islands, you say, sir?”