By this time I had the craft headed for the harbor, and the creaking of cords and the fluttering of canvas forward told me that Bill, single handed, was trying to put sail enough on her to steady her to her course. He must have succeeded for she soon became easy and sped on before the wind straight for the town, the glimmer of whose lights I could now faintly see.
My only fear now was that we might strike some sunken ledge, since I knew nothing of the waters before me, or run aground on some shallow bank. But of this fear I was soon relieved, for Bill came aft and on reaching my side, said:
“Let me take her, sir. I’ve been in here afore, an’ reckon I can put her where she’ll ride easy till mornin’.”
Gladly I gave up the wheel to him, and busied myself getting our remaining anchor ready to throw overboard when we were in a place of safety. Steadily the waters grew less boisterous, then the wind blew less violently, and I knew we were getting behind the headlands which enclosed the harbor. The lights of the city also gradually became more distinct, and after a while we began to pass vessels which were out-riding the gale in safety.
I turned to my comrade. “Had we not better anchor soon?” I queried.
“If you say so, sir,” he answered promptly, “but I’m sure I can take the brig a mile nearer town.”
I made no objection to this, and ten or fifteen minutes later he handed the wheel over to me, saying:
“I’ll go forward now, sir, an’ let down the jib. Then we’ll put over the anchor.”
These tasks were soon accomplished, and then we went to the caboose, built a fire, and got what might be called our supper and breakfast in one, for we had eaten nothing since the previous noon. The meal finished, I asked Bill to go into the cabin with me for a much needed rest. But he flatly refused, saying:
“It’s no place for the likes of me, sir; I’ll just tumble into my old berth, while ye take the cabin. I’ll call ye, if I wake fust.”