Once they were far enough off the land to clear Shagtown Cape they had straight sailing, and shaking out the reef in the big foresail they settled down to the short voyage. They passed Saltern a mile from the land, which was skirted by the white foam of breaking seas.
The boat gave an admirable exhibition of her qualities and proved her late owner's boast correct, for with a fair wind and a following sea she did her eight knots in grand style.
Dare and Ben had an opportunity to observe the Saltern coast, and found it wild and rugged. Cliffs ranging from two hundred to four hundred feet in height rose uncompromisingly upright from the sea, but were broken at points by intersecting small sandy beaches which gave upon less precipitous backgrounds.
Except for a solitary merchantman beating her way towards Shagtown, they had the sea to themselves, for the weather was too rough for the local fishermen to go to their trawls and nets.
Ben gave Dare the tiller of the Nancy and turned a pair of binoculars on the Saltern cliffs, subjecting them to a long, close scrutiny. Except for a few sheep and goats, and a fisherman's cottage or so in lonely, desolate-looking spots, there was no sign of life or human habitation. A rugged, solitary coast it certainly Was.
Further from Saltern, however, the coast became more pleasing to the eye, and sloped down more gradually to the sea. Ben, at this point, took the tiller again and changed the course a little. Miquelon, the companion island of St. Pierre, could be plainly seen, as could Green Island, and setting his course by the latter Ben turned the boat's head definitely from the land. This necessitated taking in some sheet and subjected the boat to a rough beam sea. She was, fortunately, in good ballast, and had little to fear from the press of wind bearing her down heavily as she sank into the hollows. Dare, who was with Ben in the cockpit, the deck at a level with their waists, welcomed the rough water. The sting of the spray, the roar of the wind, stimulated him to a high degree, and enjoyment swallowed up any concern there might have been as to their safety.
Ben, chewing with gusto a plug of tobacco, was in his natural element. He had not enjoyed himself so much for years. Now and then he gave a grunt of approval as the boat rose gallantly from under a breaking sea, but for the most part he was stoically inexpressive, his gaze fixed ever ahead, his capable hand hard set on the tiller.
At four o'clock they brought open the roadstead of St. Pierre harbour, and half an hour later, in half a gale of wind and a blinding rainstorm, they made the inner harbour.
Considerably elated at their successful run, they headed the boat towards the public quay next Treloar's wharf, and in calm water tied her up and made her shipshape for the night.
"Four hours an' a half from one quay to t'other," said Ben in high good humour. "Now we'll go below and put the kettle on and have a cup o' tea."