When the Skylark had rounded the buoy, and laid her course for Turtle Head again, she was at least an eighth of a mile astern of her rival. Donald hardly looked at her, but gazed steadfastly at the sails and the shore of the island. The sheets had to be hauled in little by little, as she followed the contour of the land, till at the point below Turtle Head the yacht had the wind forward of the beam. Then came the home stretch, and the skipper trimmed his sails, adjusted the centre-board, and stationed his crew as live weights with the utmost care. It was only necessary for him to hold his own in order to win the race, and he was painfully anxious for the result.
[Illustration: DONALD SAILING THE SEA FOAM. Page 166.]
In the Skylark the commodore saw just where he had lost his advantage, and regretted too late that he had permitted the Sea Foam to get to windward of him; but he strained every nerve to recover his position. The wind continued to freshen, and probably both yachts would have done better with a single reef in the mainsail; but there was no time to reduce sail. As they passed Turtle Head and came out into the open bay, the white-capped waves broke over the bows, dashing the spray from stem to stern. Neither Donald nor Robert flinched a hair, or permitted a sheet to be started.
"You'll take the mast out of her, Don John," said Ned Patterdale, wiping the salt water from his face.
"If I do, I'll put in another," replied Donald. "But you can't snap that stick. The Skylark's mast will go by the board first, and then it will be time enough to look out for ours."
"You have beaten her, Don John," added Ned.
"Not yet. 'There's many a slip between the cup and the lip.'"
"But you are a quarter of a mile ahead of her, at least. It's blowing a gale, and we can't carry all this sail much longer."
"She can carry it as long as the Skylark. When she reefs, we will do the same. I want to show you what the Sea Foam's made of. She is as stiff as a line-of-battle ship."
"But look over to windward, Don John," exclaimed Ned, with evident alarm. "Isn't that a squall?"
"No; I think not. It's only a shower of rain," replied Donald. "There may be a puff of wind in it. If there is, I can touch her up."
