It was over a year since the “Gazelle,” her colors flying, her unstained sails showing white, had sailed out of St. Joseph harbor, and yet, in spite of their eagerness to get home, in spite of the yearning of their parents to have them home, they must needs spend a day in fixing up. Kenneth was determined to have his vessel look well when he entered the home port.
But, alas! with only twenty miles of the seven thousand to go, it seemed as if they were doomed to wait yet another day. A gale was blowing, and the rollers dashed themselves to spume against the bulkheads protecting the harbor.
“You can’t do it,” the life-savers told the captain. “You’ll never get between those breakwaters alive in this wind.”
“Yes, we will.” Kenneth’s mind was made up. A spirit of reckless daring took possession of him, and he could and would get to St. Joseph that day.
“We’ll do it, won’t we, boys?” Kenneth turned to the crew that had never failed him.
“Sure!” was the laconic, but all-sufficient answer.
“Shake!” said the captain, and they gripped firm hands all around.
“Put in a single reef in the main,” the captain ordered, “and hoist away.”
The boys looked at him a bit doubtfully, but obeyed without a word. The jigger set, the anchor was hauled aboard and the jib halliards made taut.
Slowly she began to make headway, her sails filled, and, heeling gracefully to the wind, she headed for the narrow way between the breakwaters.