The boys sprang at the word, and in five minutes more the mainsail, foresail and jib had been run up, and the yacht began to careen as she felt the wind, as if impatient to be off. Eugene went to the wheel, Wilson and Bab cast off the lines, the Banner raised herself almost on her side, and taking a bone in her teeth, went tearing down the bayou at a terrific rate of speed.
“Now, I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said Perk, pulling his collar up around his ears and moving back into the standing-room to get out of the reach of the spray which was dashing wildly about the bows, “this feels natural. It is perfectly delightful. Wouldn’t she stand a little more, Commodore—just an inch or two? We want to make good time, you know.”
Walter looked up at the masts and thought she would bear the topsails; but just as he was on the point of telling Perk that he might have them given to the wind, he recollected that Eugene was at the helm. Knowing that he was a very careless, and even reckless fellow, and that he would almost as soon carry away a mast or capsize the boat as to luff an inch, the young captain said he thought he would make the run with the canvas he had already hoisted.
“Well, then,” said Perk, “as the work is over until we reach the village, Eugene and I can sail her. You and Bab and Wilson consider it your watch below and turn in. I’ll call you when we come in sight of the wharf.”
Walter thought this good advice. He went down into the cabin and closing the door, thus shutting out all sounds of the wind and the waves, arranged a bed on the lee locker, and stretched himself upon it. Bab and Wilson came down one after the other, and before the yacht had left her anchorage a mile behind, all three were sleeping soundly. When Eugene came in to call them about one o’clock the lights on the wharf were in plain sight.
There was only one berth at the wharf in which a vessel could lie with safety during a high wind, and it was already occupied by a little schooner which was evidently getting ready to begin her voyage that night; for her crew were busily engaged in loading her. Walter would have been astonished had he know what consternation the sudden appearance of his yacht produced in the minds of at least three of that schooner’s company. A foremast hand, who was assisting another in rolling a hogshead of hams up the gang-plank, ceased his work the instant his eyes rested on her, and leaving his companion to himself, dived down into the hatchway. Two men who were walking up and down the quarter-deck, arm in arm—one dressed in broadcloth and the other in rough sailor garments—stopped and gazed at her with mouth and eyes wide open. They conversed a moment in low, hurried tones, and then the man in broadcloth beat a hasty retreat down the companion ladder; while the other pulled his tarpaulin down over his forehead, turned up the collar of his pea-jacket, and having by these movements concealed every portion of his face except his eyes and whiskers, thrust his hands into his pockets and sauntered up to the rail.
“Schooner ahoy!” shouted Walter, as the Banner dashed up.
“Hallo!” was the reply.
“I’d like to tie up alongside of you for about five minutes.”