Then the Patience M. got out where 'twas pretty rugged, and she
rolled consider'ble and after that we didn't hear much more from friend
Booth--he was too busy to talk.
That night me and Jonadab took watch and watch. In the morning it
thickened up and looked squally. I got kind of worried. By nine o'clock
there was every sign of a no'theaster, and we see we'd have to put in
somewheres and ride it out. So we headed for a place we'll call Baytown,
though that wa'n't the name of it. It's a queer, old-fashioned town, and
it's on an island; maybe you can guess it from that.
Well, we run into the harbor and let go anchor. Jonadab crawled into
the cabin to get some terbacker, and I was for'ard coiling the throat
halyard. All at once I heard oars rattling, and I turned my head; what I
see made me let out a yell like a siren whistle.
There was that everlasting poet in the skiff--you remember we'd
been towing it astern--and he was jest cutting the painter with his
jackknife. Next minute he'd picked up the oars and was heading for the
wharf, doubling up and stretching out like a frog swimming, and with his
curls streaming in the wind like a rooster's tail in a hurricane. He
had a long start 'fore Jonadab and me woke up enough to think of chasing
him.
But we woke up fin'lly, and the way we flew round that catboat was a
caution. I laid into them halyards, and I had the mainsail up to the
peak afore Jonadab got the anchor clear of the bottom.
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