The main-sheet slacked and dipped, then shot over our
heads after the boom and tautened with a crash on the traveller.
The yacht heeled over almost on her beam ends, and a great wail
went up from the seasick passengers as they swept across the cabin
floor in a tangled mass and piled into a heap in the starboard
bunks.
But we had no time for them. The yacht, completing the manoeuvre,
headed into the wind with slatting canvas, and righted to an even
keel. We were still plunging ahead, and directly in our path was
the skiff. I saw Big Alec dive overboard and his mate leap for our
bowsprit. Then came the crash as we struck the boat, and a series
of grinding bumps as it passed under our bottom.
"That fixes his rifle," I heard Charley mutter, as he sprang upon
the deck to look for Big Alec somewhere astern.
The wind and sea quickly stopped our forward movement, and we began
to drift backward over the spot where the skiff had been. Big
Alec's black head and swarthy face popped up within arm's reach;
and all unsuspecting and very angry with what he took to be the
clumsiness of amateur sailors, he was hauled aboard.
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