Three Boys Part 5

"Poof!"

"Be quiet, Scood, or I'll chuck you overboard. What are you laughing at? I mean race of the tide. Look, you can see the whirlpools. It's the Atlantic rus.h.i.+ng in among the rocks. Now then, come along."

The visitor would not rise to his feet, but crept over to the after part of the boat, where he crouched more than sat, starting violently as the light craft swayed with the movements of its occupants, and began to dance as well with the rising sea.

"I'm afraid you think I'm a terrible coward."

"That's just what I do think," said Kenneth to himself; but he turned round with a look of good-humoured contempt. "Oh no," he said aloud; "you'll soon get used to it. Now, Scood, heave ahoy. Look here, we can't help it. If you laugh out at him, I'll smash you."

"But look at him," whispered Scood.

"I daren't, Scood. Heave ahoy!"

"Take care! Mind!" cried the visitor in agony.

"What's the matter?"

"I--I thought--Pray don't do that!"

Kenneth could not refrain from joining in Scood's mirth, but he checked himself directly, and gave the lad a punch in the ribs, as he hauled at the mainsail.

"You'll have the boat over!" cried the s.h.i.+vering guest, white now with agony, as the sail filled and the boat careened, and began to rush through the water.

"Take more than that to send her over," cried Kenneth merrily, as he took the tiller. "Plenty of wind now, Scood."

Scoodrach laughed, and their pa.s.senger clung more tightly to his seat.

For the wind was rising to a good stiff breeze, the waves were beginning to show little caps of foam, and to the new-comer it seemed utter madness to be seated in such a frail c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l, which kept on lying over from the pressure on the sail, and riding across the waves which hissed and rushed along the sides, and now and then sent a few drops flying over the sail.

"You'll soon get used to it," cried Kenneth, who felt disposed at first to be commiserating and ready to pity his guest; but the abject state of dread displayed roused the spirit of mischief latent in the lad, and, after a glance or two at Scoodrach, he felt compelled to enjoy his companion's misery.

"Is--is there any danger?" faltered the poor fellow at last, as the boat seemed to fly through the water.

"No, not much. Unless she goes down, eh, Scood?"

"Oh, she shall not go down chust direckly," said Scoodrach seriously.

"She's a prave poat to sail."

"What's the matter?" cried Kenneth, as his pa.s.senger looked wildly round.

"Have you--a basin on board?" he faltered.

This was too much for the others. Scoodrach burst into a roar of laughter, in which Kenneth joined for a minute, and then, checking himself, he apologised.

"Nonsense!" he said; "you keep a stout heart. You'll like it directly.

Got a line, Scood?"

"Yes; twa."

"Bait 'em and throw 'em out; we may get a mackerel or two."

"They've got spinners on them," said the lad sententiously, as he opened a locker in the bows, and took out a couple of reels.

"Don't--go quite so fast," said the visitor imploringly.

"Why not? It's safer like this--eh, Scood?"

"Oh yes; she's much safer going fast."

"But the waves! They'll be in the boat directly."

"Won't give 'em time to get in--will we, Scood? Haul in that sheet a little tighter."

This was done, and the boat literally rushed through the water.

"There, you're better already, aren't you?"

"I--I don't know."

"Oh, but I do. You'll want to have plenty of sails like this."

"In the young master's poat," said Scoodrach, watching the stranger with eyes which sparkled with mischief. "Wouldn't the young chentleman like to see the Grey Mare's Tail?"

"Ah, to be sure!" cried Kenneth; "you'd like to see that."

"Is--is the grey mare ash.o.r.e?" faltered the visitor.

"Yes, just round that point--a mile ahead."

"Yes, please--I should like to see that," said the guest, with a sigh of relief, for he seemed to see safety in being nearer the sh.o.r.e.

"All right! We'll run for it," cried Kenneth; and he slightly altered the boat's course, so as to draw a little nearer to the land. "Wind's getting up beautifully."

"Getting up?"

"Yes. Blow quite a little gale to-night, I'll be bound."

"Is--is there any danger?"

"Oh, I don't know. We get a wreck sometimes--don't we, Scood?"

"Oh ay, very fine wrecks sometimes, and plenty of people trowned!"

"You mean wrecks of s.h.i.+ps?"

"Yes; and boats too, like this--eh, Scood?"

"Oh yes; poats like this are often wrecked, and go to the pottom," said Scood maliciously.