"Good morning, Ellerton," he exclaimed. "All quiet, I suppose? Well, let's get the canvas on her."
Already the natives were hauling their canoe down the beach, and by the time the yawl had set her sails the splash of a score of paddles showed that they had lost no time in embarking.
"Up with your helm, Andy; check the jib sheets."
Then, as the little craft drew clear of the land, the freshening breeze caused her to heel and glide through the ruffled water of the lagoon.
By the time they had gained the passage through the reef the yawl was ahead of the canoe.
"Glorious!" ejaculated Andy. "See, they're setting their sail. It will be a good race, after all."
Half a dozen bronzed natives were setting the raking mast and bending the yard with its enormous sail of cocoa fibre. Then, as the sail rose swiftly in the air, the breeze filled the mat-like canvas. The crew took in their paddles and watched the yawl with curious eyes.
"We are gaining on her, I think," remarked Andy.
"Yes; we must shorten sail," replied Mr. McKay. "But I want particularly to note the respective speeds of the two craft. I should think that, under sail and aided by her paddles, that canoe could overhaul us under sail alone. Yes," he continued, after a few moments' careful observation. "I think I've seen enough in case of future developments, so we'll strike the topsail."
Under reduced canvas the yawl kept the canoe at a regular distance from her, neither gaining nor allowing the latter to overhaul her. Quexo, fearing an attack of sea-sickness, had retired to the seclusion of a berth in the fo'c'sle, while Ellerton and Terence, who had kept the last portion of the previous night's watch, followed his example, though from other motives.