"There's the white paint line," said Ezra. "It's certainly her. Take us alongside that ship which is lying to the outside there, Sampson."
The fisherman looked ahead once more. "To the barque which has just got her anchor up?" he said. "Why, we won't be in time to catch her."
"Her anchor up!" screamed Ezra. "You don't mean to tell me she's off!"
"Look at that!" the man answered.
As he spoke they saw first one great square of canvas appear above the vessel, and then another, until she had spread her white wings to their fullest extent.
"Don't say we can't catch her!" cried Ezra, with a furious oath. "I tell you, man, that we must catch her. Everything depends on that."
"She must take three short tacks before she's out from the Goodwins. If we run right on as we are going, we may get near her before she's free."
"For God's sake! clap on all the sail you can! Get these reefs out!" With trembling fingers Ezra let out the sail, and the boat lay over further under the increased pressure. "Is there no other sail that we could put up?"
"If we were running, we could rig up a spinnaker," the fisherman answered; "but the wind has come round three points. We can do no more."
"I think we are catching her," John Girdlestone cried, keeping his eyes fixed upon the barque, which was about a mile and a half ahead.
"Yes, we are now, but she hain't got her way on yet. She'll draw ahead presently; won't she, Jarge?"
The fisherman's son nodded, and burst into hoarse merriment. "It's better'n a race," he cried.
"With our necks for a prize," Ezra muttered to himself. "It's a little too exciting to be pleasant. We are still gaining."
They had a clear view of the dark hull and towering canvas of the barque as she swept along in front of them,
