The next minute the master gave the word, and went to the tiller, a couple of men began to haul up the jib, and then Arthur was clinging frantically to Will.
“Quick! The boat!” he cried. “The ship’s going over.”
Then he turned from deadly pale to scarlet as he saw Will’s smile and look of amusement.
“It’s all right, Master Arthur,” said the latter; “it’s the wind taking hold of the mains’l. She only careens a bit.”
“But won’t it go over?”
“Over! Oh, no!” said Will; “there’s too much ballast. There, you see, now we’re beginning to move.”
“But ought the boat to go side wise like this?” whispered Arthur. “The deck’s all of a slope.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right enough. When we’re on the other tack she’ll careen over the other side. The stiffer the breeze and the more sail there is, the more she careens. I’ve been in a smack when we’ve been nearly lying down in the water, and it’s washed right over the deck.”
“There, young gents, she’s moving now,” said the master, as the gaff was hoisted, and the beautifully-shaped cutter began to rush through the water at a rapid rate, leaving two long lines of foam in an ever-widening wake, while, like some gigantic sword-fish, she ploughed her way through the glittering sea. The sails bellied out tense and stiff, and the wind whistled as it seemed to sweep off the three sails.
There was no doubt about it; either the cutter was moving or the pier and shore. To Arthur it seemed as if the latter had suddenly begun to run away from them, and was dancing up and down with joy because it had found the chance.