foremast.

"Hard a-lee!"

The sails shook in the wind and swung in-board, and out again, with a
rattling of the little blocks. The forefoot rose high, once or twice,
with the lessened headway, and a great savage mass of rock passed
alongside, stretching out jagged spurs, like some wild beast robbed of
its prey. Frenchy, ahead, crossed himself quietly, without excitement,
and again peered into the fog.

"Close call!" I shouted to the skipper, after I had recovered my breath,
since I am not yet entirely inured to the risks these men constantly run.

"We nigh got ketched," roared back Sammy Moore. "I were mistrustin' the
tide wuz settin' inshore furder'n common. But I knows jist where I be
now, anyways."

His grim wrinkled face was unmoved, for during all his life he had been
staring death in the face and such happenings as these were but incidents
in the day's work.

"I doesn't often git mistook," he shouted, "but fer this once it looks
like the joke were on me."

The little smack continued to rise and fall over the surge. Yves, the
Frenchman, remained at his post forward, holding on to the foremast and
indifferent to the spray that was drenching him as he stared through the
fog, keenly. My attention was becoming relaxed for, after all, I was but
a passenger. Despite Sammy's close shave I maintained a well-grounded