THE TARPON AND THE TEMPEST 



the sharp bow of the canoe met and parted it till 

 it swept past, unharming. Kneeling, with 

 paddles dipped, we held the craft true to the 

 wind as the needle to the pole. As the waves 

 rolled higher the canoe rose gently to them, while 

 their foam-flecked crests, torn loose by the wind, 

 were dashed in our faces. 



"Isn't it glorious?" came to me from the bow, 

 through the hissing of the rain and the roar of 

 the storm, but the howling wind swept my an- 

 swer away. 



Suddenly, almost as it began, the rain ceased, 

 but the gale continued and the waves rose rapid- 

 ly. As the stern of the canoe settled in the hol- 

 lows between them, the bow was lifted above 

 their crests, and the wind seizing it struggled to 

 toss the craft end over end. Once in the trough 

 of the sea the curling crest of the next wave 

 would have poured over the side or the wind 

 rolled the canoe over like a log. There was joy 

 in holding our course, so quartering to each on- 

 coming roller that every danger was avoided and 

 our craft rode smoothly the high-mounting bil- 

 lows. When the chance came to look around I 

 saw the Irene a quarter of a mile to leeward. 



