Good Sport—An Exciting Sail—Cast Away.
The absence of Mr Clare was the only drawback to our pleasure that morning. He had told us the evening before that he should probably return from his visit the same day, getting home about the time we expected to be back—about sundown, which at that date in September was at twenty minutes after six. He said, however, that possibly he might remain in Q—town until after Sunday morning service.
When Captain Mugford had completed his smoke, by which time we had a fine steady breeze from the south-east, he rose from his luxurious position and took Walter’s place at the helm, saying—
“Not a permanent removal, Walter, but only until I can put the cutter just where I want her for fish. Fifteen minutes more will do that; so you had better go forward to Drake and get the anchor all ready to let go. You other boys can stand by the sails.”
The Captain noted carefully the changing colour of the water as we drew over some bank, and he took bearings, too, from points on the land we had left nearly ten miles astern. In a few minutes he luffed a bit and sang out—
“Down with your foresail! Get in the jib.”
The bowsprit pointed right in the wind’s eye, and the boom hung fore and aft, the sail empty, as the cutter lost her headway.
“Is that anchor ready?”
“Aye, aye, sir!” replied Walter and Drake.
“Let go! About five fathoms, is it?” called the Captain.