Then we caught the breeze again.  It was puffy and uncertain,—­the forerunner of a squall.

“We’ll say good-bye to ’em now,” exclaimed Spike, gleefully.

“B-But we won’t sh-shake that yacht s-s-so easy,—­l-look at ’em!  H-Hoisting a j-j-jib, d-d-d-dod r-rabbit ’em!”

We had forgotten the other boats, in our excitement over the dory.  Spike looked back over his shoulder.

“This seems like persecution to me,” he remarked.  “One trouble after another.  No chance to put any more sail on this boat,” he added.

“And no sail to put,” said I.

“Look!  They’re setting a spinnaker, too!  Now they’ll come!”

We saw the long boom run out, waver, and settle into place.  Then there bulged out upon it a great mass of canvas that made the jib look like a handkerchief.  The yacht simply tore through the water.  Any hope of keeping ahead of her for ten minutes was absurd.  She was really trying to catch us now, and she was doing it.  She grew in size every second, an overwhelming cloud of canvas,—­a fine sight on the darkening water.

“T-T-Tack!” exclaimed Spook, “she c-can’t s-sail into the wind with that s-spinnaker!”

“What’s the good?” growled Spike, “she can sail all round this boat, just with her mainsail and jib.”

Now the yacht bore down on us with a rush, cutting through the water and sending spray flying on either side of the bow.  The dory was forgotten as we watched this new enemy.  There was no one to be seen on board,—­the spread of her canvas hid everything.

Just as her bow-sprit pushed by the stern of the “Hoppergrass” something white stirred near the mast.  Then two wings flapped, and there was a sound of “Quack!  Quack!  Quaa-a-a-a-ck!”

CHAPTER XII

THE VOYAGE BEGINS AGAIN

At the same moment Captain Bannister poked his head under the sail and looked at us.  His face was grim—­as it might have been that time he was chased by pirates in the China Sea—­and he had a double-barreled shot-gun in his hand.

When he saw me his mouth opened, and he stared helplessly.  I caught sight of Mr. Daddles standing near the Captain, Sprague at the wheel, and Jimmy Toppan and some others busy with the sails.  Then I fully realized what had first dawned on me when I heard the quacking of Simon the duck.  This was Sprague’s boat, of course.  It was not strange that I hadn’t recognized her.  Coming up as she did, bow on, there was very little to distinguish her from any other yacht.  And I was never familiar with her appearance.

(By the way, I have forgotten to tell the name of the yacht.  It was the “White Rabbit,”—­named, said Sprague, after his favorite character in a book.  And as the boat was painted black, it pleased him especially to call her this, in order to annoy the matter-of-fact Chief.)

Spook crawled under a seat as soon as he saw Captain Bannister.