The boat-builder pushed off from the beach, and Tom, whose whole soul was wrapped up in his beautiful craft, did not even condescend to cast a parting glance toward the crowd of boys behind him.
A few strokes of the oars brought the skiff alongside the Storm King, and the men who were lounging about the decks, arose to their feet and saluted Tom as he clambered over the side.
"Here she is!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who had followed close behind Tom. "Now, will you take command?"
"No, I believe not," replied the boy, stroking his chin and gazing about him with the air of one who considered himself a judge of a good boat. "She doesn't belong to me yet, so you may just consider me a visitor."
"All right," replied the boat-builder. "I thought, perhaps you would be impatient to get control of her. When I was a boy of your age, I never allowed a chance to play captain pass unimproved."
"Perhaps you were not as reckless as I am," said Tom, who could think of no other excuse to make for not wishing to take charge of the little vessel. "I am a great hand to carry sails, and I might lose this mast overboard!"
"Well, I'll be captain then," said Mr. Graves. "All hands stand by to get ship under-way."
As the sails were all spread, the work of getting under-way was very speedily accomplished. One of the crew took his place at the wheel, another cast off the line with which she was made fast, and in half a minute's time the Storm King was moving down the harbor.
One thing that not a little astonished Tom was, the perfect cloud of canvas he saw above him. He had told Mr. Graves that he wanted his yacht to have all the sail she could carry; and, according to Tom's idea, she was supplied with a great deal more than could be spread with safety even in the lightest breeze. But Mr. Graves thought differently. He had hoisted every inch of the canvas, and Tom's amazement increased when he witnessed the exhibition of speed the little vessel made. He was not the only one who was astonished, for the yacht very soon began to attract the attention of the people on both sides of the harbor, who shouted and waved their hats as she dashed by. Tom kept watch for the fisher-boy, and presently discovered him standing upon the top of his wood-pile, where he had climbed to obtain a better view of the boat. Tom knew he was astonished, and he wished that he could have been near enough to hear what he had to say about it; but when Bob waved his hat to him, he turned and walked over to the other side of the vessel. He could not forget that the fisher-boy had called him a Jonah.
In a very few minutes the yacht cleared the harbor and entered the bay. There she felt the full force of the wind, which was blowing briskly, and, like an unruly horse which takes the bits in his teeth and runs away, the Storm King seemed determined to escape from the control of her crew, or, failing in that, to sweep them from her deck by running entirely under the water. In fact, she went at such a rate that Tom began to be alarmed, and nervously asked Mr. Graves if he hadn't better shorten sail.