In the meanwhile he was wanted to get another pull on the staysail-sheet, and when that was done all his attention was occupied by the reefs and the schooner. Hove down by her canvas she put her bows in every now and then, and her deck ran water, while the masts were groaning under the pressure, and the surf seemed very little farther away. Once or twice when a white sea smote her it seemed to both the lads who clung tight to what was handiest that she was going over, and Appleby saw that Montreal glanced at Jordan as though asking a question from the wheel. The skipper, however, shook his head.
"We've no time for luffing. She has got to take what comes," he said.
For several minutes it seemed scarcely possible that the Champlain could resist the overwhelming heeling stress of her canvas, and her deck was swept fore and aft during them. Then there was a lull in the wind, and as she lifted her rail a little, Stickine glanced at the boat astern of them.
"She's most swamped, and a big drag on us," he said. "Shall I cut the painter?"
Again Jordan shook his head. "Not unless we have to. We'll want her to-morrow."
For an hour they thrashed to windward before they could clear the reefs, and when at last the horrible white seething swept away behind them, and they swung the topsail and mainsail peak down it was with a great contentment that the lads, who were drenched through, crawled away below. Niven laughed excitedly as he stripped off his dripping clothes.
"I'm glad we got them," he said. "Still, I wouldn't like to do this kind of thing often."
In the meanwhile the Russian officer had gone with Jordan into the cabin, but the bluejackets were put into the hold, and though nobody could understand them they smiled and nodded to the sealers and took all the tobacco that was offered them. Next morning the wind had once more fallen, and a little grey smear, which was apparently an island, showed on the hazy horizon. The lads knew that Brulée had taken an unusually good breakfast into the cabin, and Jordan and the Russians came on deck together. Montreal, at a sign from the former, span round the wheel, and the Champlain came up head to wind. She lay there for ten minutes while the Russians emptied and dried up their boat, then water and a bag of provisions were lowered into her, and Jordan smiled at the blue-eyed officer.
"There's not going to be much wind for three or four hours, and you'll be ashore by then," he said. "It's a good pull, but you'll be that much longer sending the gun-boat after me."
The Russian, who seemed to understand him, laughed and clapped the skipper's shoulder. Then he glanced down at his uniform with a deprecatory gesture.