I awoke Euphemia and told her what had happened.  The two ’possums stood upon the shore, and listened to our conversation.  Euphemia was much impressed by the whole affair, and for a time said nothing.

“We must sail her back, I suppose,” she remarked at length, “but do you know how to start her?”

“The hardest thing to do is to get her off the beach,” I answered, “but I think I can do that.”

I rolled up my trousers, and with bare feet jumped out upon the sand.  The two ’possums retired a little, but still watched my proceedings.  After a great deal of pushing and twisting and lifting, I got the yacht afloat, and then went on board to set the sail.  After much pulling and tugging, and making myself very warm, I hoisted the main-sail.  I did not trouble myself about the jib, one sail being enough for me to begin with.  As the wind was blowing in the direction in which we wished to go, I let the sail out until it stood nearly at right angles with the vessel, and was delighted to see that we immediately began to move through the water.  I took the tiller, and steered gradually toward the middle of the river.  The wind blew steadily, and the yacht moved bravely on.  I was as proud as a man drawn by a conquered lion, and as happy as one who did not know that conquered lions may turn and rend.  Sometimes the vessel rolled so much that the end of the boom skimmed the surface of the water, and sometimes the sail gave a little jerk and flap, but I saw no necessity for changing our course, and kept our bow pointed steadily up the river.  I was delighted that the direction of the wind enabled me to sail with what might be called a horizontal deck.  Of course, as the boatman afterward informed me, this was the most dangerous way I could steer, for if the sail should suddenly “jibe,” there would be no knowing what would happen.  Euphemia sat near me, perfectly placid and cheerful, and her absolute trust in me gave me renewed confidence and pleasure.  “There is one great comfort,” she remarked, as she sat gazing into the water,—­“if anything should happen to the boat, we can get out and walk.”

There was force in this remark, for the Indian River in some of its widest parts is very shallow, and we could now plainly see the bottom, a few feet below us.

“Is that the reason you have seemed so trustful and content?” I asked.

“That is the reason,” said Euphemia.  On we went and on, the yacht seeming sometimes a little restive and impatient, and sometimes rolling more than I could see any necessity for, but still it proceeded.  Euphemia sat in the shadow of the cabin, serene and thoughtful, and I, holding the tiller steadily amidship, leaned back and gazed up into the clear blue sky.