“We’d have a lovely time out there in this gale,” says Mr. Browning. “We might make New Bedford, and we might make Davy Jones’ Locker. No, there’ll be no running out before tomorrow. When we get up into Buzzards Bay we can give them the slip some place—among among the islands. Lots of places to dodge in and hide.”

“I wish we were there this minute,” says Mr. Topper.

“Well,” says Mr. Browning, “I don’t mind owning I feel that way myself.”

CHAPTER IV

The bad weather kept up all the next day, but by night the wind went down, and next morning after that it was warm and fine. Mr. Browning got us up mighty early, because he had planned with Mr. Topper to try to sneak out at daylight and so dodge the Porpoise. We got up the anchors as quietly as we could and off we went, and no sign of life aboard the enemy ship. It was fine, but as we came out of the harbor we found out that the sea doesn’t always go down the minute the wind does. There was a big sea running, a sort of enormous swell, and our course was right in the trough of it. I was kind of scared at first when I saw those waves.

Why, when we got on top of one and looked down, it seemed as if we were a hundred feet in the air, and when we slid down between two waves, with one of them racing right down onto us, it seemed as if we were in a valley and one of the sides was sure to fall right over on us and finish us. But the motion was so easy and the waves were so big, that it got to be real pleasure, like sliding down hill. There didn’t seem to be a bit of danger, though we could see where the waves dashed against the rocks on the shore and the spray was thrown a hundred feet into the air. It was easy to imagine what would happen to us if we got swept in there. It would be good-by Albatross and good-by Wee-wee and good-by everybody else.

But we didn’t get swept.

There weren’t many boats out, though we did see a few lobster men, and a destroyer wallowed past us going like the mischief. I noticed that Catty stuck to the after-deck, with Mr. Browning’s glasses, watching the mouth of the harbor, and every little while Mr. Topper would go back there and strain his eyes over the course we had taken. All at once Catty sung out, “Here she comes,” and sure enough, there was the black yacht, four or five miles back, just nosing between the rocks. We hadn’t dodged her worth a cent.

There was nothing to do but keep on going, so we kept. I was 

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