Kate.

"What are you afraid of? I didn't think you were a coward. If I had, I shouldn't have asked you to come with me."

"I'm not a coward, any more than you are. I don't see what you want to hoist the other sail for; we are going like fury through the water now."

"We need more head sail," answered Fanny, using an expression she had borrowed from the nautical speeches of Ben, the boatman.

"No, we don't need more head sail," replied Kate, who, however, had not the most remote idea of the meaning of her friend's language.

"Take the tiller, Kate, and don't bother me."

"I will not."

"Then I will hoist the sail, and let the boat take care of herself while I do it. If she is upset, it will be your fault,—not mine."

Fanny was resolute; she had a will, as well as a way, of her own. She did not want any advice, and she was not willing to take any. She looked upon her companion as a weak-minded, poor-spirited girl, and she treated her opinions and her wishes with the utmost contempt, now that she had her completely in her power. It was useless for Kate to attempt to oppose her.

"I don't know anything about the tiller, as you call it. I don't even know what it is, and I'm sure I couldn't tell what to do with it," continued Kate.

"That's a good girl!" replied Fanny, in patronizing tones, when she saw that her companion was disposed to yield.

"I don't want to touch it."

"But you must."

"Must! Who says I must?"

"I say so; if you don't, we may be upset."

"I have gone far enough, Fan Grant; I don't want to go any farther: I want to go on shore again!" exclaimed Kate, now completely disgusted with the venture, for in addition to the perils of wrong doing, she found she must submit to the impudence and the arrogance of her friend.

"Well, why don't you go on shore?" replied Fanny, with the utmost coolness and self-possession.

"You know I can't. Turn the boat round, and let me go back to the land."

"I think not."

"I have had enough of this thing."

"Will you take the tiller, or will you let the boat upset?" added Fanny, with firmness and decision. "You can't go on shore again till I get ready to let you. I command this vessel, and if you ever want to put your foot on the dry land again, you must mind what I say."

"Please to let me go back," pleaded Kate.

"I won't please to do anything of the kind. Take the tiller, I say."

"What shall I do with it?" asked the poor girl, cowed down and subdued by the force and decision of her companion.

"Sit here," replied Fanny, pointing to the corner of the stern-sheets, where the helmsman usually sits. "This is the tiller," she added, indicating the serpent-shaped stick attached to the rudder, by which the boat is steered. "Keep it just as it is, until I tell you to move it."

"I don't know how to move it."

"When I say right, move it this way;" and Fanny pointed to the starboard side. "When I say left, move it the other way."

Fanny watched her a moment to see that her instructions were obeyed.

"We don't want this any longer," said she, unfastening the painter of the skiff and throwing it into the water, thus permitting the boat to go adrift.

"What did you do that for?" demanded Kate, as the Greyhound dashed on, leaving the skiff behind to be borne down the river by the tide.

"We don't want the skiff, and dragging it behind keeps us back some."

"What did you bring it for, then?"

"To keep Mr. Long from chasing us in it. All the rest of the boats are hauled up, and he will have to find one before he can come after us."

Fanny went forward, and having fearlessly removed the stops from the jib, which required her to crawl out a little way on the bowsprit, she hoisted the sail, and carried the sheet aft to the standing-room, as she had often seen the boatmen do. The effect of this additional canvas was immediately seen, for the Greyhound had now reached the middle of the river, where she felt the full force of the wind, which was fresh from the north-west, and came in puffs and flaws.

When the Greyhound went out from the shore, her sails were over on the right hand side; that is, she took the wind abaft the port beam. The boat was now careened over nearly to her rail, and was darting through the water like a rocket. Kate trembled, but Fanny was delighted.

"Now we will go down the river," said Fanny, as she took the tiller.

Suiting the action to the word, she put the helm up just as a flaw of wind came sweeping over the waves. The boat came round; the three sails, caught by the flaw, suddenly flew over, filled on the other side, and the Greyhound careened till she was half full of water.

CHAPTER V.

DOWN THE RIVER.

Putting a boat about, as Fanny had turned the Greyhound, is nautically termed gybing her. It is a dangerous manœuvre when the wind is fresh, and should never be attempted by young or inexperienced boatmen. By putting the boat about in the opposite direction, hauling in the sheet as the sail flutters, the danger may be wholly avoided. The boat's head should always be turned in the direction from which the wind comes. But a person who does not understand the management of a boat should no more attempt to handle one than an unskilful person should attempt to run a steam engine.

Fanny Grant knew but little about a boat, and it was fortunate for her and her companion in mischief that the wind was not strong enough to carry the Greyhound wholly over. If she had careened only a little more, she would have filled with water and sunk, for she was heavily ballasted. As it was, she was half full of water, and the situation of the young ladies, if not perilous, was very uncomfortable.

"O, Fanny!" screamed Kate, in mortal terror, as the Greyhound heeled over, and the water rushed in over the washboard.

"Don't be scared," replied Fanny, with wonderful self-possession. "It's all right, and there is no harm done."

"We shall be drowned!" gasped Kate.

"No, we shall not be drowned. Don't you see the boat stands up like a major? Don't be frightened. I understand it all."

"No; you don't know anything about it. The boat is almost full of water, and we shall sink to the bottom."

"I tell you she is doing very well. Pooh! that wasn't anything! She often takes in the water like that."

"What shall we do?" moaned Kate.

This was a question which appealed even to Fanny's prudence. Without answering in words, she let go the halliards, and hauled down the foresail. After the boat came about, she had not righted the helm, and the Greyhound had been thrown up into the wind as she heeled over and took in the flood of water. She now lay with her sails flapping, and Fanny cast off the main-sheet, rather to stop the fluttering than to avoid further peril. Fortunately, this was the proper course to pursue.

"What shall we do?" repeated Kate, expecting every moment that the treacherous sails would carry them over again, and that they would soon find their way to the bottom of the river.

"Bale out the water," replied Fanny, taking a pail and a dipper from the cuddy forward. "Now go to work, and we shall soon be ready to sail again."

"I don't want to sail any more," whined Kate.

"Dip away as fast as ever you can. Don't stop to talk about it now."