Point on her starboard, the last point of land to be sighted for many days to come. Once clear of the reefs, top and foresail went up, along with every other available stitch of canvas, and the Columbia bowled along gayly, sending the spray flying in every direction.
Previous to sailing, every rope and every inch of canvas had been thoroughly overhauled, while the Columbia had been cleaned as neat as "my lady's parlor," to use Hobson's words, so now there was little to do but to arrange matters in the forecastle, and once the Point had faded away in the blue-gray haze, Larry turned to what was to be his "house" during the voyage.
Yet even here there was very little to occupy his mind. He had arranged his berth the night before. He pulled out his chest, unlocked it, and began to sort over and shake out his clothing, hanging on a nearby hook those for which he might have an early call.
He was thus engaged when a shadow fell beside him, and a bulky form in the doorway shut out much of the light entering the forecastle. He looked up, expecting to see Striker or some one of the other sailors with whom he had become acquainted. But
