"I only came in here to get a fair start," added the skipper, not at all disconcerted by the mishap.
"Folks don't generally run the boat ashore before they start," sneered Kate, who certainly had no confidence in the seamanship of the feminine skipper.
"That's the way they do it!" exclaimed Fanny, triumphantly, as the sail began to draw, and the boat moved off from the shore. "Now, we are all right. That's just the way I meant to make her go."
The wind came from the Woodville side of the river, but it was very light, and the Greyhound moved but slowly. Fanny was entirely satisfied with herself now, and was confident that she could manage any boat that ever floated. It was a very easy thing, she thought, and she did not see why folks made such a "fuss" about sailing a boat; anybody could do it, if they only thought they could. But the Greyhound did not move fast enough for her impatient temperament, and, against the remonstrances of her more prudent companion, she insisted upon setting the mainsail.
"Mr. Long may be after us soon, and we must get along as fast as we can," said she, as she took the throat halliard, and gave the peak to Kate. "Now, hoist away. We are as good sailors as any one need be."
The mainsail was set, and the Greyhound began to travel through the water pretty rapidly, much to the delight of Fanny. She had been deceived in regard to the force of the wind; under the lee of the shore, where it was obstructed by the bank, by the trees, and by the buildings, the breeze was very light: out in the middle of the river the wind was quite strong; but the boat had not yet begun to feel its full force.
"Now she goes beautifully!" exclaimed Fanny, as she observed the effect by the added sail.
"She goes very well; but don't you see how rough the water is out in the middle of the river?" replied Kate, rather anxiously, though she was not willing to acknowledge the full extent of her fears.
"That's nothing."
"But why don't you go down the river more, and keep out of that rough place?"