"I'm a-comin'! I'm a-comin'! We'm goin' alongside in Bill's skiff, ye know. The boat's all ready—ballast and all. Don't ye worrit yourself, Mister Jule; Tim's comin' on, hand over hand."
Tim was certainly very warm when he stepped into the small boat, and when he was seated old Murry sculled us over to the Osprey, a small "yacht," if one may say so—a fore and aft sailing-boat, boasting a little recess which was covered by a hatch, and called the cabin. There was room for ten or twelve people, and she could accommodate more. She carried the usual fore and aft sails, with a mizzen, and sailed very fast. In fact, she was a rather smart boat, and easily handled, being stiff and strong, with pretty lines; she looked smaller than she really was because of her fine shape and slender appearance.
The Osprey could stand rough weather, as I well knew, and when we hauled up the mainsail, and set the jib and foresail, I felt happy for the first time that day.
"Here's the change," said Tim, handing me a small sum, in which sixpence shone proudly in a nest of coppers.
"Pouch it, Tim, please. Now, Murry, what's the course, eh?"
"Well, I should say, keep her close hauled myself. Keep your luff, sir, that's what it is, and then you'll have all your run back. But as you like."
"I want to make Greystones, though," I said, as I glanced ahead.
"Well, ye can tack in. Ye see, it's this way: the tide's agin' ye, and when ye weather the Ratcham ye'll want all the luff ye can find to fetch Greystones this wind, anyway—and it's a squally bit down that gully."
"Yes, that's true; but we can fetch in. So you think I'm a sailor, Murry?" I continued, referring to our previous talk.
"That ye be," he said. "Eyes, indeed! as if ye couldn't see like a cat. Why, I've see ye make out the rig of a coaster when Tim couldn't, and he's been at sea since afore you come."