showed only a rag of canvas, while the west-bound coasters were under single or double reefs. Still the Athlon held on to everything, showing the ability of a representative centerboard sloop to do wonderful work in heavy weather. At last things came to such a pitch that we just had to shorten sail. We were knocked down by a squall of particular violence. Anybody to windward of us might have caught a glimpse of Athlon's keel. We hauled down the jib and tied a single reef in the mainsail, which, being brand-new and soaked with rain and spray, was hard to handle. At last we got it reefed, and after swaying up the halyards taut as bars of steel we hammered at it once more.
The gale was dead in our teeth. The other yachts of the fleet had disappeared, most of them seeking harbors of refuge. The Athlon's destination, however, was New London, and thither she threshed her way right gallantly, making a short leg and a long leg along the Connecticut shore. Never before had I seen so heavy a sea in the Sound, and I had had a long experience on which to draw.
The crew looked like drowned rats. Every time we tacked, the yacht shipped a good deal of water as she plunged her bows under in the steep head sea. It was hard work for all hands, but there was a lot of excitement in it. By and by we struck a streak of good luck. It was off Branford Beacon, and it was
