And the colonel and the squire made themselves anything but comfortable, fretting and fuming at the delay.
The captain took it leisurely, however, yanked the pump for ten minutes or more, to the accompaniment of short puffs of his pipe, and then pronounced her dry as “Dry Ledge at low tide.”
The colonel and the squire were neither of them sailors; so they could only wait on Captain Sam’s pleasure. He finally made sail on the Nancy Jane, got up anchor, brought her “full and by,” and they began the long zigzag chase down the bay in the teeth of the wind.
The breeze freshened as they drew out of the shelter of the island shore, and down between the nearer islands Captain Sam could see the line of breeze show black upon the water.
“Looks like a right smart blow by afternoon,” he said.
Colonel Witham looked up apprehensively.
“It doesn’t get dangerous, does it?” he asked.
Captain Sam laughed dryly.
“Guess you’re not much on sailing, colonel, are you?” he asked, by way of reply. “Bless you! We don’t get a dangerous blow in the bay once in a summer. No, you need not worry about that. There’s no danger; but I wouldn’t wonder if we had a bit of a chop-sea when the wind freshens.”
The colonel looked more at ease.