208 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



" Ay, ay, sir ! with my eyes shut ! " was the 

 cocksure reply. 



With the wind almost abeam, and with a boiling tide 

 in her favour, the Seamew simply tore through the water, 

 her lee-decks often buried up to the very coach-roof in 

 a smother of foam, while the spray came over the weather- 

 rail in icy clouds, lashing our faces like the thong of a 

 whip, and finding its way down the collars of our oilskins 

 in a cool and invigorating sort of manner. 



On and on raced the yawl through storm and snow, 

 and, staunch though she was, she carried just about as 

 much canvas as she knew how to stagger under. So 

 dense was the snow that not a light was there to be seen 

 either ashore or afloat, but the weird shriek of a steamer's 

 siren, or the hoarse booing of a foghorn, warned us more 

 than once that we were sailing dangerously close to the 

 merchant vessels lying weather-bound or passing slowly 

 up and down the fairway. 



" Isn't it about time we were off Hole Haven ? " 

 asked the captain of Gilson, after the latter had been at 

 the tiller for nearly an hour. 



The helmsman, in his quaint East-coast dialect, 

 declared that " That theere wor jest what he'd a -been 

 thinkin'." 



Scarcely had he uttered the words when the deep 

 boom of a bell was heard above the roar of the gale, and 

 with a " Good heavens ! that's the Chapman, and we're 

 heading clean for the sands ! " the captain snatched the 

 tiller from the unfortunate " crew," and sent the head 



