There's the breeze." The canvas fell over as he spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow.
"Keep her head up, sir; higher--higher still." But Considine little heeded the direction, steering straight for the narrow channel the man alluded to.
"Tear and ages, but you're going right for the cloch na quirka!" "Arrah, an' the devil a taste I'll be drowned for your devarsion!" said the other, springing up.
"Sit down there, and be still," roared Considine, as he drew a pistol from the case at his feet, "if you don't want some leaden ballast to keep you so! Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot--you understand me." The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually flying through the water.

Considine's object was a clear one.

He saw that in sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay in reaching the narrow and dangerous channel between Oat Rock and the shore, by which we should distance the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ran out beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from.

Nothing but the danger behind us could warrant so rash a daring.

The whole channel was dotted with patches of white and breaking foam,--the sure evidence of the mischief beneath,--while here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood.