so as to bring the wind on the other quarter. Hand over hand the men drag in the boom, pulling as if for dear life. The wind pipes so breezily that the skipper has as much as he can do to gybe the boat so as to make a close turn round the mark and carry away nothing.
The boom comes over with a whirl and a rush, and is checked by a turn round the cleat. The yacht flies up in the wind, but is met with the helm and the head-sails, and there we are, close-hauled on the port tack, with three strakes of the lee deck under water and a devil of a strain on the topmast. The yacht, as she comes to the wind, takes a header into a big green sea and floods the deck. This is her first fault of the day, and we cheerfully forgive her, not minding the wetting, and making up our minds for a hard tussle home against wind and sea.
Now that we have fairly settled down to windward work, we have time to look after our opponent. We see that she, too, has rounded without parting a rope-yarn. She is ahead of us, and a wee bit to windward. We notice that she is being "nipped," the luff of her mainsail shaking all the time. She isn't quite so stiff as we are, and her immense club-topsail will bury her if her skipper will only give it a chance. He is afraid to take it in, for he knows that before he could get his "thimble-header" set we should work out half a mile on his weather, so he sails her close, and prays that the wind may lull.
