Most of my short life I had spent afloat, and I knew every rock and creek along the shores.
The boat lay tugging at her moorings when I got down to her, as if impatient to be away.

Luckily her mast was up.

It would need but the least taste of canvas to run her across.

The business would be coming back in the face of the wind.
Sure enough, when I cast off, she rushed through the water like something mad.

And again my spirits rose as I heard the hiss of the foam at her bows, and felt her rear and plunge among the big boisterous waves.
After a time I could catch the light at Knockowen as it flickered in the wind, and put up my helm so as to clear the shoal.