Champagne and luncheon revived us a little, and Tom hurried us off to
get ashore again by daylight, before the weather became worse. It was
a very pleasant twenty minutes' sail to the shore, racing along before
the wind, with two reefs in the mainsail--quite a different thing from
beating out. The tide was high, and the captain therefore steered for
the pier, where he hoped to land us. Unfortunately, however, he missed
it; and as it was impossible to make another tack out, all that could
be done was to let go the anchor to save running ashore, and wait
until they sent out a small boat to fetch us. This took some little
time during which we pitched and tossed about in a very disagreeable
fashion. When the boat did at last arrive she turned out to be a
wretched little skiff, rowed by two men, with very indifferent oars,
and only capable of taking three passengers at a time. Tom went first,
taking with him the two children, and the two poor sea-sick maids, and
the boat at once put off for the land, Tom steering. It was terrible
to watch them from the whale-boat, and when one tremendous sea came,
and the skiff broached to, I thought for a moment that all was over,
as did every one who was watching our proceedings from the pier. I
could not look any more, till I heard shouts that they were safe
ashore.
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