Time and the world slipped away, and both boys were aroused by the harsh voice of French Pete from the sleep into which they had fallen.  
"Get under way!" he was bawling¹. "Here, you Sho! Cast off ze gaskets! Queeck! Lively! You Kid, ze jib!"
 
Joe was clumsy in the darkness, not knowing the names of things and the places where they were to be found; but he made fair progress, and when he had tossed the gaskets into the cockpit was ordered forward to help hoist² the mainsail. After that the anchor was hove in and the jib set. Then they coiled down the halyards and put everything in order before they returned aft.
 
"Vaire good, vaire good," the Frenchman praised, as Joe dropped in over the rail. "Splendeed! You make ze good sailorman, I know for sure."
 
'Frisco Kid lifted the cover of one of the cockpit lockers³ and glanced questioningly at French Pete.
 
"For sure," that mariner⁴ replied. "Put up ze side-lights."
 
'Frisco Kid took the red and green lanterns into the cabin to light them, and then went forward with Joe to hang them in the rigging.
 
"They 're not goin' to tackle it," 'Frisco Kid said in an undertone.
 
"What?" Joe asked.
 
"That big thing I was tellin' you was down here somewhere. It 's so big, I guess, that French Pete 's 'most afraid to go in for it. Red Nelson 'd go in quicker 'n a wink⁶, but he don't know enough about it. Can't go in, you see, till Pete gives the word."
 
"Where are we going now?" Joe questioned.
 
"Don't know; oyster⁷-beds most likely, from the way we 're heading."
 
It was an uneventful trip. A breeze sprang up out of the night behind them, and held steady for an hour or more. Then it dropped and became aimless and erratic⁸, puffing⁹ gently first from one quarter and then another. French Pete remained at the tiller, while occasionally Joe or 'Frisco Kid took in or slacked off a sheet.
 
Joe sat and marveled that the Frenchman should know where he was going. To Joe it seemed that they were lost in the impenetrable darkness which shrouded¹⁰ them. A high fog had rolled in from the Pacific, and though they were beneath, it came between them and the stars, depriving them of the little light from that source.
 
But French Pete seemed to know instinctively¹¹ the direction he should go, and once, in reply to a query¹² from Joe, bragged¹³ of his ability to go by the "feel" of things.
 
"I feel ze tide, ze wind, ze speed," he explained. "Even do I feel ze land. Dat I tell you for sure. How? I do not know. Only do I know dat I feel ze land, just like my arm grow long, miles and miles long, and I put my hand upon ze land and feel it, and know dat it is there."
 
Joe looked incredulously at 'Frisco Kid.
 
"That 's right," he affirmed. "After you 've been on the water a good while you come to feel the land. And if your nose is any account, you can usually smell it."
 
An hour or so later, Joe surmised¹⁴ from the Frenchman's actions that they were approaching their destination. He seemed on the alert, and was constantly peering into the darkness ahead as though he expected to see something at any moment. Joe looked very hard, but saw only the darkness.
 
"Try ze stick, Kid," French Pete ordered. "I t'ink it is about ze time."
 
'Frisco Kid unlashed a long and slender pole from the top of the cabin, and, standing¹⁵ on the narrow deck amidships, plunged¹⁶ one end of it into the water and drove it straight down.
 
"About fifteen feet," he said.
 
"What ze bottom?"
 
"Mud," was the answer.
 
"Wait one while, den¹⁷ we try some more."
 
Five minutes afterward¹⁸ the pole was plunged overside again.
 
"Two fathoms," Joe answered—"shells."
 
French Pete rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Vaire good, vaire well," he said. "I hit ze ground every time. You can't fool-a ze old man; I tell you dat for sure."
 
'Frisco Kid continued operating the pole and announcing the results, to the mystification of Joe, who could not comprehend their intimate knowledge of the bottom of the bay.
 
"Ten feet—shells," 'Frisco Kid went on in a monotonous¹⁹ voice. "'Leven feet—shells. Fourteen feet—soft. Sixteen feet—mud. No bottom."
 
"Ah, ze channel," said French Pete at this.
 
For a few minutes it was "No bottom"; and then, suddenly, came 'Frisco Kid's cry: "Eight feet—hard!"
 
"Dat 'll do," French Pete commanded. "Run for'ard, you Sho, an' let go ze jib. You, Kid, get all ready ze hook."
 
Joe found the jib-halyard and cast it off the pin, and, as the canvas fluttered down, came in hand over hand on the downhaul.
 
"Let 'er go!" came the command, and the anchor dropped into the water, carrying but little chain after it.
 
'Frisco Kid threw over plenty of slack and made fast. Then they furled the sails, made things tidy, and went below and to bed.
 
It was six o'clock when Joe awoke and went out into the cockpit to look about. Wind and sea had sprung up, and the Dazzler was rolling and tossing and now and again fetching up on her anchor-chain with a savage²⁰ jerk. He was forced to hold on to the boom overhead to steady himself. It was a gray and leaden day, with no signs of the rising sun, while the sky was obscured by great masses of flying clouds.
 
Joe sought for the land. A mile and a half away it lay—a long, low stretch of sandy beach with a heavy surf thundering upon it. Behind appeared ............