“You ain’t half dressed for a cruise of this kind,” Sampson said.  “You’ll be nigh soaked through, I fear.”

“That’s our look-out,” answered Ezra.  “Let us get off.”

“Step in, sir, and we’ll get in after.”

The dinghy was shoved off into the surf, and the two seamen clambered in after.  Ezra and his father sat in the sheets, while the others rowed.  The sea was running very high—­so high that when the dinghy lay in the trough of a wave they could see neither the boat for which they were steering nor the shore which they had left—­nothing indeed but the black line of hissing water above their heads.  At times they would go up until they hung on the crest of a great roller and saw the dark valleys gaping beyond into which they were forthwith precipitated.  Sometimes, when they were high upon a wave, the fishing-boat would be between the seas, and then there would be nothing of her visible except the upper portion of her mast.  It was only a couple of hundred yards, but seemed a long journey to the shivering fugitives.

“Stand by with the boat-hook!” Sampson cried at last.  The dark outline of the boat was looming immediately above them.

“All right, father.”

The dinghy was held alongside, and the two gentlemen scrambled aboard as best they could, followed by their companions.

“Have you the painter, Jarge?”

“Ay, ay.”

“Make it fast aft then!”

The lad fastened the rope which held the dinghy to a stanchion beside the tiller.  Then he and his father proceeded to hoist the foresail so as to get the boat’s head round.

“She’ll do now,” Sampson cried.  “Give us a hand here, sir, if you don’t mind.”

Ezra caught hold of the rope which was handed him and pulled for some time.  It was a relief to him to have something, however small, which would distract his mind from the events of the night.

“That will do, sir,” the skipper cried, and, leaning over the bows, he seized the anchor which Ezra had hauled up, and tumbled it with a crash on the deck.

“Now, Jarge, with three reefs in her we might give her the mains’le.”

With much pulling at ropes and with many strange nautical cries the father and the son, aided by their passengers, succeeded in raising the great brown sail.  The little vessel lay over under the pressure of the wind until her lee bulwark was flush with the water, and the deck lay at such an angle that it was only by holding on to the weather rigging that the two gentlemen could retain their footing.  The wild waves swirled and foamed round her bows, and beat at her quarter and beneath her counter, but the little boat rose gallantly to them, and shot away through the storm, running due eastward.

“It ain’t much of a cabin,” Sampson said apologetically.  “Such as it is, you’ll find it down there.”

“Thank you,” answered Ezra; “we’ll stay on deck at present.  When ought we to get to the Downs?”