“No,” he said, “I’m no sailor. I manage to make the voyage down the river to the island, but that is as much seagoing as I have ever wanted, and this will be my first real ocean experience.”
“Not what you’d hardly call an ocean experience, either,” said Captain Sam, grinning from ear to ear. “No,” and he said the words over to himself as though they afforded him no end of amusement, “a slat to windward from the point to Gull Island ain’t just what one would call an ocean experience, though it does shake a body up now and then in a blow.”
Dinner-hour came, and they had the Spray well in sight, some miles ahead and pitching hard.
“We’ll eat a snack,” said Captain Sam, who was never so happy and hearty as when he had his hand on the wheel of the Nancy Jane. “Colonel, have one of Mrs. Curtis’s fresh doughnuts, just fried this morning, make you feel like a schoolboy.”
But the colonel, pale of face, declined.
“I—I don’t seem to feel very hungry just this moment,” he stammered. “Late breakfast, you know. Er—by the way, is it going to blow much harder, do you think?”
“No great shakes,” responded the captain. “Guess there may be another capful or two of wind in them ’ere light clouds out yonder. It may freshen a bit, but that’s all right. That’s just what we want. The harder it blows the more the Spray will pitch and get knocked back. It’s the kind of a breeze that the Nancy Jane likes, plenty of wind and a rough sea. The wind is bound to go down by sunset. It’s the way these southerlies act.”
“By sundown!” groaned the colonel. “That’s hours yet, and I’m sure we’ll tip clear over if this boat leans much more.”
“Built to sail on her beam,” explained Captain Sam. But at this moment the Nancy Jane’s bow snipped off the whitecap of a roller somewhat larger than its predecessor, and the spray flew in, drenching the colonel from head to foot.
He yelled with terror. “We’re upsetting, sure!” he cried. “Let’s turn her about, Captain Sam, while there is time, and start again when it’s lighter.”