In a moment, two of the Atlantic House heroes tumbled into the Osprey, a dozen over-hasty hands had cast off her painter, had shoved her head into the stream, and the great race was begun.
The wind was down the river, or toward the island, so that while the Osprey was sailing before the wind, the Ripple had her sail close-hauled and was tacking.
“They’re after us!” said Charley Carter, excitedly. “It’s the Osprey; but I can’t make out who’s handling her. From the way they are pointing, I think they expect to reach us on this tack as we go about.”
The crew of the Osprey evidently thought so too, for her bow was pointed at a spot on the shore, near which the Ripple must turn if she continued much longer on the same tack.
“Do you see that?” gasped Charley, who was acting as lookout. “They’re letting her drift in the wind so as not to get there before us. I tell you what it is, Gus, they know what they’re doing, and I think we’d better go about now.”
“Do you?” inquired the younger brother, who had a lofty contempt for the other’s judgment as a sailor. “Well, I don’t. My plan is simply this: I am going to run as near the shore as I can, then go about sharp, and let them drift by us by a boat’s length. A boat’s length is as good as a mile, and then, when we are both heading the same way, I would like to see them touch us!”
“What’s the use of taking such risks?” demanded the elder brother. “I tell you, we can’t afford to let them get so near as that.”
“At the same time,” replied the man at the helm, “that is what we are going to do. I am commanding this boat, please to remember, and if I take the risks I am willing to take the blame.”
“You’ll be doing well, if you get off with nothing but blame,” growled the elder brother. “If you let those kids catch us, I’ll throw you overboard!”
“I’ll put you in irons for threatening a superior officer if you don’t keep quiet,” answered the younger Carter, with a grin, and the mutiny ended.