A little later Hunch joined Peabody by the wheel. “Do you know of a good man here, Herm?”
“For the schooner, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Why—I'll see if I can pick up Duke Buckingham.”
“Go ahead. Tell him we're short-handed.”
When the Dean finally fell away from the wharf, in tow of Jackson's tug, it was well on toward noon. And none of the three men on board was over-cheerful when he looked out at the lake and felt the keen wind of the open water. Even on shore it was a day for heavy jackets and gloves; out here it was bitter cold.
“Set the tops'ls, Herm,” said Badeau, from the wheel.
Peabody looked at Buckingham, and then, without a word, the two men set to work.
They ran nearly before the wind, that is, nearly southwest. Badeau kept her up a few points to the westward in order to avoid the surf-currents that bore down on Point Sable. The deck was piled so high with timber that the schooner was unwieldy; her scuppers were nearly awash, and the stem was down so low in the water that half the time the small boat, hanging from the after davits, was afloat. When all sail was spread, Hunch called his men aft and gave them a hand in hauling the boat aboard and forward.
Rapidly the piers and the bluffs of Manistee fell off astern. Steadily the sky thickened, and fine, hard flakes of snow began to blow about their ears. Badeau alone did not mind the cold; his coat was open, his hands bare.