Driven to Bay, Volume I by Florence Marryat

Before noon on the following day, the lighthouse at Dungeness was sighted, and the _Pandora_ parted company with her towboat. It was a joyous morning. A southerly wind blew its warm breath across the water, and filled the sails of the vessel. It was just the wind that suited her, for she could show off her powers far better on a bowline than when running, and she ploughed along with the freshening breeze at thirteen knots an hour. Her sharp stem cut through the swells, and made the seething foam rush angrily from her, leaving a long white streak of creamy froth in her wake. Little spits flew over the weather topgallantsail, as the boisterous waves dashed against her, and the sea gushed through the lee scupper-holes, oozed in at the ports, and ran in torrents aft with the backward roll. Her large, white canvas sails bulged out with the wind, and made her sheets crack again, as they hugged the belaying bits; and the leeches, stretched taut with the bowlines, trembled convulsively when she came up to windward.

The _Pandora_ was behaving beautifully, and her passengers -- who had mostly pulled round after their severe shaking in the Downs -- all thought the movement delightful. And the scene by which they were surrounded added to their pleasurable sensations. The gulls sailed in half-circles about the vessel's wake, now and then uttering hoarse cries as they dived after and engaged in a battle-royal for some tempting morsel tossed overboard by the black cook. The porpoises skimmed the waves in frolicsome gambols -- often leaping straight out of the water, and falling back upon their sides with a loud splash, scaring the smaller fry, that fled in all directions, as they chased each other over the crested swells. The numerous vessels that passed, too, showed themselves off to advantage under such an inviting gale.