"I am glad of it," replied John.
"The wind is freshening every moment," said Paul, casting an anxious glance to windward.
"Hope it will blow a gale."
"I think we shall get more than we want."
"Not more than I want, at any rate."
Paul hoisted the jib, and the Fawn rushed out among the white-capped waves; but she walked over them so majestically, that John declared she could weather any gale that ever blew. For a time she breasted the foam of the head sea in a most gallant manner; but the wind came in fearful gusts, increasing in violence every moment till Paul came to the conclusion that it was no longer safe to carry the jib and mainsail, and proposed to set a reefed foresail. John scouted the idea, but he did not want the mainmast blown out of her, and consented to the change.
John took the helm, and Paul, after lowering the jib and mainsail, hoisted the reefed foresail. The boat rode easier then; but as the wind and tide were both against them, it was soon discovered that she made no headway. As the gale steadily increased in fury, Paul would not attempt to carry any more sail, though John insisted that she could bear the jib and a close-reefed mainsail.
It was evident to Paul that, unless he put on more sail, he could not beat up to Bayville against the tide; but it was clearly imprudent to carry any more sail, and for two hours more the Fawn struggled with her hopeless task without making a single mile.
"What are you going to do, Paul?" asked John, impatient, but not terrified by their situation.
"We can't beat up in this sea."