with that we
determined to rest satisfied.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A GALE IN THE BAY OF BISCAY.

On the evening of Wednesday, August 8th, 18--, having wished all our
friends good-bye, and pressed my last kiss upon the lips of my sobbing
sister, I ran hastily down the flight of stone steps before my aunt's
front door, crossed the road, and walked briskly down the Esplanade
until I overtook Bob, who had gone on before me; we then proceeded
together to the New Quay end, found the man of whom we had hired our
punt, paid him his money, and got him to row us on board the _Water
Lily_.

We had arranged to start at daybreak on the following morning; but as we
pulled off to the cutter we remarked that there was a nice little breeze
blowing from the westward, and as the evening was beautifully fine and
clear, with the promise of a brilliant starlight when the night should
have fully set in, the idea occurred to us both that we might just as
well be getting on down Channel at once, as be lying at anchor all
night.

Accordingly, as soon as we got on board, we loosed and set our canvas,
hove up our anchor, and in half an hour afterwards were slipping through
the opening in the Portland Breakwater.

In little more than half an hour after that we were clear of the dreaded
Bill, when, noticing that a small drain of flood-tide was still making,
we hauled our wind on the port tack, and stood in towards Bridport for
an hour; then tacked again, and stood out towards mid-Channel, so as to
obtain the full benefit of the ebb-tide, which by this time had begun to
make.

By "six bells," or seven o'clock, on the following morning we were
abreast the Start, about six miles distant. We stood on until eight
o'clock, when we tacked again towards the land, having now a flood-tide
against us, and had breakfast.

By noon we were _in_ Plymouth Sound, when we made a short leg to the
southward until we could weather Rame Head; then went about once more,
stretched across Whitesand Bay until the ebb-tide began to make again,
and then again hove about and stood to the southward and westward, on
the starboard tack.

At six o'clock that evening we passed the Lizard lighthouse, distant two
and a half miles, and here we _took our departure_.

For the benefit of those who may be ignorant of the meaning of this
expression, I may as well explain that the commander of a vessel _takes
his_ _departure_ from the last _well-known_ point of land he expects to