"
The old boatman grinned. "'Storm is a word that an old salt reserves
for one of those hurricanes that blow a field of turnips flat, and
teeth down your throat. You can turn round and lean your back against
it like a post; and a carrion-crow making for the next parish gets
fanned into another county. That is a storm."
The old boatman went forward grinning, and he and his boy lowered the
mainsail. Then Talboys at the helm brought the boat's head round to
the wind. She came down to her bearings directly, which is as much as
to say that to Lucy she seemed to be upsetting.
Lucy gave a little scream. The sail, too, made a report like the crack
of a pistol.
"Oh, what is that?" cried Lucy.
"Wind, mum," replied the boatman, composedly.
"What is that purple line on the water, sir, out there, a long way
beyond the other boat?
"Wind, mum."
"It seems to move. It is coming this way."
"Ay, mum, that is a thing that always makes to leeward," said the old
fellow, grinning. "I'll take in a couple of reefs before it comes to
us."
Meantime, the moment the lugger lowered her mainsail, the schooner,
divining, as it appeared, her intention, did the same, and luffed
immediately, and was on the new tack first of the two.
"Ay, my lass," said the old boatman, "you are smartly handled, no
doubt, but your square stern and your try-hanglar sail they will take
you to leeward of us pretty soon, do what you can."
The event seemed to justify this assertion; the little lugger was on
her best point of sailing, and in about ten minutes the distance
between the two boats was slightly but sensibly diminished.
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