"Please to let me go back," pleaded Kate.

"I won't please to do anything of the kind. Take the tiller, I say."

"What shall I do with it?" asked the poor girl, cowed down and subdued by the force and decision of her companion.

"Sit here," replied f.a.n.n.y, pointing to the corner of the stern-sheets, where the helmsman usually sits. "This is the tiller," she added, indicating the serpent-shaped stick attached to the rudder, by which the boat is steered. "Keep it just as it is, until I tell you to move it."

"I don't know how to move it."

"When I say right, move it this way;" and f.a.n.n.y pointed to the starboard side. "When I say left, move it the other way."

f.a.n.n.y watched her a moment to see that her instructions were obeyed.

"We don't want this any longer," said she, unfastening the painter of the skiff and throwing it into the water, thus permitting the boat to go adrift.

"What did you do that for?" demanded Kate, as the Greyhound dashed on, leaving the skiff behind to be borne down the river by the tide.

"We don't want the skiff, and dragging it behind keeps us back some."

"What did you bring it for, then?"

"To keep Mr. Long from chasing us in it. All the rest of the boats are hauled up, and he will have to find one before he can come after us."

f.a.n.n.y went forward, and having fearlessly removed the stops from the jib, which required her to crawl out a little way on the bowsprit, she hoisted the sail, and carried the sheet aft to the standing-room, as she had often seen the boatmen do. The effect of this additional canvas was immediately seen, for the Greyhound had now reached the middle of the river, where she felt the full force of the wind, which was fresh from the north-west, and came in puffs and flaws.

When the Greyhound went out from the sh.o.r.e, her sails were over on the right hand side; that is, she took the wind abaft the port beam. The boat was now careened over nearly to her rail, and was darting through the water like a rocket. Kate trembled, but f.a.n.n.y was delighted.

"Now we will go down the river," said f.a.n.n.y, as she took the tiller.

Suiting the action to the word, she put the helm up just as a flaw of wind came sweeping over the waves. The boat came round; the three sails, caught by the flaw, suddenly flew over, filled on the other side, and the Greyhound careened till she was half full of water.

CHAPTER V.

DOWN THE RIVER.

Putting a boat about, as f.a.n.n.y had turned the Greyhound, is nautically termed _gybing_ her. It is a dangerous manoeuvre when the wind is fresh, and should never be attempted by young or inexperienced boatmen.

By putting the boat about in the opposite direction, hauling in the sheet as the sail flutters, the danger may be wholly avoided. The boat's head should always be turned in the direction from which the wind comes. But a person who does not understand the management of a boat should no more attempt to handle one than an unskilful person should attempt to run a steam engine.

f.a.n.n.y Grant knew but little about a boat, and it was fortunate for her and her companion in mischief that the wind was not strong enough to carry the Greyhound wholly over. If she had careened only a little more, she would have filled with water and sunk, for she was heavily ballasted. As it was, she was half full of water, and the situation of the young ladies, if not perilous, was very uncomfortable.

"O, f.a.n.n.y!" screamed Kate, in mortal terror, as the Greyhound heeled over, and the water rushed in over the washboard.

"Don't be scared," replied f.a.n.n.y, with wonderful self-possession. "It's all right, and there is no harm done."

"We shall be drowned!" gasped Kate.

"No, we shall not be drowned. Don't you see the boat stands up like a major? Don't be frightened. I understand it all."

"No; you don't know anything about it. The boat is almost full of water, and we shall sink to the bottom."

"I tell you she is doing very well. Pooh! that wasn't anything! She often takes in the water like that."

"What shall we do?" moaned Kate.

This was a question which appealed even to f.a.n.n.y's prudence. Without answering in words, she let go the halliards, and hauled down the foresail. After the boat came about, she had not righted the helm, and the Greyhound had been thrown up into the wind as she heeled over and took in the flood of water. She now lay with her sails flapping, and f.a.n.n.y cast off the main-sheet, rather to stop the fluttering than to avoid further peril. Fortunately, this was the proper course to pursue.

"What shall we do?" repeated Kate, expecting every moment that the treacherous sails would carry them over again, and that they would soon find their way to the bottom of the river.

"Bale out the water," replied f.a.n.n.y, taking a pail and a dipper from the cuddy forward. "Now go to work, and we shall soon be ready to sail again."

"I don't want to sail any more," whined Kate.

"Dip away as fast as ever you can. Don't stop to talk about it now."

f.a.n.n.y took the pail herself, and gave the dipper to Kate, and both of them went to work with a zeal which promised soon to free the Greyhound from the burden under which she was laboring. There was a large quant.i.ty of water in the boat, and the process of dipping it out was very slow. f.a.n.n.y was afraid that this accident would throw her into the power of her great enemy, the constable; and this was the only fear which troubled her. The perils of the mighty river had no terrors to her while she had a plank under her feet.

Kate was utterly disconsolate and hopeless, and f.a.n.n.y was obliged to use all her ingenuity to keep her in working condition. To show her confidence, she sang like a nightingale, as she dipped out the water; and f.a.n.n.y was an excellent singer. She labored hard to prove to her desponding companion that there was no danger, and at last she succeeded in restoring Kate to a tolerable degree of self-possession.

When about half the water had been dipped out, f.a.n.n.y trimmed the sails, and headed the boat down the river, to the utter consternation of her timid a.s.sociate, who was heartily sick of the adventure, and longed to put her feet on the dry land again.

"Now, Kate, you take the pail, and I will use the dipper; I can work and steer the boat at the same time," said f.a.n.n.y, when the Greyhound was under headway again.

"The boat is going down the river, f.a.n.n.y!" exclaimed Kate, as she took the pail.

"Of course she is," replied the bold skipper. "Where did you expect her to go?"

"But you are not going any farther--are you?"

"To be sure I am. Do you think I am going to back out now?"

"We shall certainly be drowned!"

"Nonsense!"

"I don't want to go any farther," moaned Kate, who felt like one going to execution.

"I can't help it if you don't. I'm going down to Pennville," answered f.a.n.n.y, still dipping up the water from the bottom of the boat.

"I won't bale out any more then," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Kate, as she dropped the pail, and looked as though she actually meant what she said.

"Very well; then I won't," added f.a.n.n.y, throwing down the dipper.

"If you will go back, I will bale out the water as hard as ever I can."

"But I will not go back," replied f.a.n.n.y, firmly. "Do you think I am going home to be shut up for a week, or sent back to my uncle, without having any fun at all? If you won't bale, I won't. I guess I can stand it as long as you can."