"There's no wind to speak of yet," Harry protested.
"Well," said Jake grimly, "you'll have plenty before you're through."
Harry dragged up the small sail, and when Frank had lowered the larger one they proceeded to strip it off the stay. It took them some little time, but Frank, glancing at the slowly heaving, leaden water, fancied that there was no need for haste until as he and his companion bundled the canvas off the deck Jake called to them.
"Up with that jib!" he ordered. "Get a hustle!"
They had the halliard in their hands, and the sail was half set, when it blew out suddenly and there was a sharp creaking. The sloop slanted over wildly and a curious humming, rippling sound broke out to windward. Glancing around a moment Frank saw that the swell was growing white, and a rush of cold wind nearly whipped his cap away. Then jamming his feet against a ledge with the deck sloping away beneath him he struggled furiously to hoist the jib, while disjointed cries reached him from the helmsman.
"Heave!" Jake roared. "I can do nothing with her until you have it set!"
They got the sail up somehow, though by the time they had finished the sloop's lee rail was in the sea, and then flung themselves upon the mainsail. They were breathless with the effort before they had tied two reefs in it, and Frank wondered at the change in their surroundings when at length he sat down in the well.
The sea, which had run in long and almost smooth undulations before they began to reef, now splashed and seethed about the boat, and each big slope of water was seamed with innumerable smaller ridges. Bitter spray was flying thick in the air, water already sluiced about the deck, and it was disconcerting to recollect that they were still eight miles from the inlet. This would not have mattered so much had it not lain dead to windward, which meant that they must fight for every yard they made.
There was shelter to lee of them. They could put up the helm and run, but though they were wet through in a few minutes they braced themselves for the struggle, while the savage blast screamed about them and the ominous sound Frank had noticed—the splash of waves that curled and broke—came more loudly out of the gathering gloom ahead. Though his physical nature shrank from the task before him Frank would not have chosen to go back. It was a big thing they were taking a hand in, the climax which all their previous adventures had led up to, and he recognized that they must see it through at any cost.
At last he was playing a man's part, acting in close coöperation with the Government of his country, and Mr. Barclay, who had elaborated the scheme with infinite patience and foresight, counted upon him and his comrade. That they should fail him now was out of the question, but Frank was glad that Jake sat at the tiller. Harry was quick and daring, but he was young, and in this fight there was urgent need for the instinctive skill which comes from long experience. The helmsman's stolidness was more reassuring. He gazed up to windward, gripping the tiller, with the spray upon his rugged face, ready for whatever action might be necessary. Loud talking and an assertive manner were of no service here; what was wanted was raw human valor and steadfast nerve. It was fortunate that Jake, who was tranquil and good-humored, possessed both.