"No, sir. Now we have a chance to manœuvre a little," added Donald. "I know just what the commodore will do; he will stand on this tack, when he gets round the buoy, till he is almost up with Brigadier Island; then he will make a long stretch. I shall not do so."
"Why not?"
"Because, if the wind lessens, he will get under the lee of the land. I shall go just one mile on this tack," replied Donald. "Have you any rubber coats on board, Sam?"
"I have only two."
"You will want them, for we are beginning to toss the spray about, as though it didn't cost anything."
It was decidedly damp on the deck of the Maud, for the water thrown up by the waves, dashing against the weather bow, was carried by the gusty wind to the standing-room, drenching those who sat there. Donald and his companions had no fear of salt water, and were just as happy wet to the skin, as they were when entirely dry, for the excitement was quite enough to keep them warm, even in a chill, north-west wind. Half way across to Brigadier Island, Donald gave the order, "Ready about," and tacked. As he had predicted, Commodore Montague continued on his course, almost over to the island, and then came about. The Maud rushed furiously on her long stretch, dashing the spray recklessly over her deck, till she was almost up with the Northport shore, when she tacked again, and laid her course to windward of the judges' yacht, as the regulations required. As she rounded the Penobscot, a gun announced the arrival of the first yacht. The Maud let off her sheets, and passed under the stern of the judges' craft.
"The Maud!" shouted Donald, enraptured with his victory.
Four minutes and thirty-four seconds later, the gun announced the arrival of the Skylark. It was all of twenty minutes later when the Sea Foam arrived, and half an hour before the Phantom put in an appearance. There was not a shadow of a doubt that the Maud had won the great race.