The curtain of falling rain swept over the sea, beating down for the moment the jumping waves. It struck the staggering catboat. Through the half-opaque wall of it the watchers on the cliff could still see the tall fellow standing at the tiller, hanging on with both hands.
"Looka that feller!" gasped the excited and admiring Pudge. "Some lad that—what d' you say, Horrors?"
"He's no quitter," admitted the tall lad, his gaze never leaving the chap managing the staggering catboat.
"Shucks!" grunted Ben. "He's just got to hang on. Who wouldn't?"
"You!" snapped Kirby like the bark of a spaniel. "You never scarcely smelt salt water before. You don't know what it means to cling to that kicking tiller!"
"You've said it," rejoined Horace softly.
The curtain of rain lifted a little. The boys in the catboat had managed to reduce sail; but if she lost headway and fell into the trough between two waves, she might wallow over, and turn turtle entirely.
"He's trying to keep in the shelter of the island, isn't he?" Pudge asked.
"Trying to wear 'round the easterly point of it. The water'll be smooth there, and the island will break the force of the wind," Kirby replied. "Ah! Good for him! 'Atta boy!"
The fellow with the flying hair had tacked again—a move calling for much judgment and no little courage. When the boom went over it almost carried the craft upon her beam ends.