"The breeze died out flat about three o'clock. In one way this was a
good thing. In another it wa'n't, because we was well out in deep water,
and when the wind did come it was likely to come harder'n we needed.
However, there wa'n't nothin' to do but wait and hope for the best, as
the feller said when his wife's mother was sick.

"It was gettin' pretty well along toward the edge of the evenin' when
I smelt the wind a-comin'. It came in puffs at fust, and every puff was
healthier than the one previous. Inside of ten minutes it was blowin'
hard, and the seas were beginnin' to kick up. I got up my jury rig--the
oar and the spray shield--and took the helm. There wa'n't nothin' to
do but run afore it, and the land knows where we would fetch up. At any
rate, if the compass was right, we was drivin' back into the bay again,
for the wind had hauled clear around.

"The Shootin' Star jumped and sloshed. Fatty had on all the ileskins and
sweaters, but he was shakin' like a custard pie.

"'Oh, oh, heavens!' he chatters. 'What will we do? Will we drown?'

"'Don't know,' says I, tuggin' at the wheel and tryin' to sight the
compass. 'You've got the best chance of the two of us, if it's true that
fat floats.'

"I thought that might cheer him up some, but it didn't. A big wave
heeled us over then and a keg or two of salt water poured over the
gunwale. He give a yell and jumped up.

"'My Lord!' he screams. 'We're sinkin'. Help! help!'