the broadest part of the river, within a little ways of the buoy, he
couldn't stand it no longer.

"You're spilling half the wind!" he yells. "Pint' her for the buoy or
else you'll be licked to death! Jibe her so's she gits it full. Jibe
her, you lubber! Don't you know how? Here! let me show you!"

And the next thing I knew he fetched a hop like a frog, shoved Phil out
of the way, grabbed the tiller, and jammed it over.

She jibed--oh, yes, she jibed! If anybody says she didn't you send 'em
to me. I give you my word that that flat-iron jibed twice--once for
practice, I jedge, and then for business. She commenced by twisting and
squirming like an eel. I jest had sense enough to clamp my mittens
onto the little brass rail by the stern and hold on; then she jibed the
second time. She stood up on two legs, the boom come over with a slat
that pretty nigh took the mast with it, and the whole shebang whirled
around as if it had forgot something. I have a foggy kind of remembrance
of locking my mitten clamps fast onto that rail while the rest of me
streamed out in the air like a burgee. Next thing I knew we was scooting
back towards Dillaway's, with the sail catching every ounce that was
blowing. Jonadab was braced across the tiller, and there, behind us, was
the Honorable Philip Catesby-Stuart, flat on his back, with his blanket
legs looking like a pair of compasses, and skimming in whirligigs over
the slick ice towards Albany. HE hadn't had nothing to hold onto, you
understand. Well, if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have b'lieved that a
human being could spin so long or travel so fast on his back. His legs
made a kind of smoky circle in the air over him, and he'd got such a
start I thought he'd NEVER STOP a-going. He come to a place where some
snow had melted in the sun and there was a pond, as you might say,