Not a word
had been said between them on the matter that lay closest to their
minds, but while they waited Billy fetched a look at the boat and
another at Abe. "The best man wins," he said to himself, and edged away
towards the ladder.
The breeze, as I said, was a fresh one, with a sea in the bay that kept
the _Suffolk_ rolling like a porpoise. A heavier lurch than ordinary
sent her main channels grinding down on the mackerel boat's gunwale,
smashing her upper strakes and springing her mizzen mast as she
recovered herself.
"Be dashed," said one of the officers, "if I trust myself in a boat
that'll go down under us between this and land!"
The rest seemed to be of his mind, too. But Billy, being quick as well
as eager, saw in a moment that the damaged strakes would be to windward
on the reach into Mousehole, and well out of harm's way in the wind then
blowing, and also that her mainsail alone would do the job easy.
So just as she fell off and her crew ran aft to get the mizzen lug
stowed he took a run past the officer and jumped aboard, with two
fellows close on his heels--one a Penzance fellow whose name I've
forgot, and the t'other a chap from Ludgvan, Harry Cornish by name.
I reckon the sight of the old shores just made them mazed as sheep, and
like sheep they followed his lead. The officers ran to stop any more
from copying such foolishness; and if they hadn't, I believe the boat
would have been swamped there and then.
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