“So there they was.  Wind was fair, or ought to be, but ‘twas blowin’ hard and so thick you couldn’t hardly see the jib boom.  Zach he wanted to anchor, then he didn’t, then he did, and so on.  Nobody paid much attention to him.

“‘What’ll we do, Nat?’ says ’Bije.  He knew who was the real seaman aboard.

“’Keep her as she is, dead afore it, if you ask me, says Nat.  ’Guess we’ll hit the broadside of the cape somewheres if this gale holds.’

“So they kept her as she was.  And it got to be night and they knew they’d ought to be ’most onto the edge of the flats off here, if their reck’nin’ was nigh right.  They hove the lead and got five fathom.  No flats about that.

“Zach was for anchorin’ again.  ‘What do you think, Nat?’ asks ’Bije.

“‘Anchor, of course, if you want to,’ Nat says.  ‘You’re runnin’ this craft.  I’m only passenger.’

“‘But what do you think?’ whines Zach.  ’Can’t you tell us what you do think?’

“’Well, if ’twas me, I wouldn’t anchor till I had to.  Prob’ly ’twill fair off to-morrow, but if it shouldn’t, we might have to lay out here all day.  Anyhow, we’d have to wait for a full tide.’

“‘I’m afraid we’re off the course,’ says ’Bije, else we’d been acrost the bar by this time.’

“‘Well,’ Nat tells him, ’if we are off the course and too far inshore, we would have made the bar—­the Bayport bar—­if not the Trumet one.  And if we’re off the course and too far out, we’d ought to have deeper water than five fathom, hadn’t we?  ’Course I’m not sure, but—­What’s that, lands-man?’

“‘Three and a half, sir,’ says the feller with the lead.  That showed they was edgin’ in somewheres.  Nat he sniffed, for all the world like a dog catchin’ a scent, so ’Bije declares.

“‘I can smell home,’ he says.

“Three fathom the lead give ’em, then two and a half, then a scant two.  They was drawin’ six feet.  Zach couldn’t stand it.

“‘I’m goin’ to anchor,’ he squeals, frantic.  ’I believe we’re plumb over to Wellmouth and drivin’ right onto Horsefoot Shoal.’

“‘It’s either that or the bar,’ chimes in ’Bije.  ’And whichever ’tis, we can’t anchor in the middle of it.’

“‘But what’ll we do?’ shouts Zach.  ‘Can’t nobody say somethin’ to do?’

“‘Tell you I smell home,’ says Nat, calm and chipper, ’and I’d know that smell if I met it in Jericho.  Ha! there she deepens again.  That was the bar and we’re over it.’

“The wind had gone down to a stiff sailin’ breeze, and the old Debby S. slapped along afore it.  Sometimes there was twelve foot under her keel and sometimes eight or nine.  Once ’twas only seven and a half.  Zach and ’Bije both looked at each other, but Nat only smiled.

“‘Oh, you can laugh!’ hollers Zach. ‘’Tain’t your vessel you’re runnin’ into danger.  You aint paid out your good money—­’

“Nat never answered; but he stopped smilin’.