Andy stepped lively to trim the sails as the mast angled over like a falling tree frozen in descent. Their speed hurried to seven then eight knots. Mitchell leaned an elbow on the angled deck and watched the milieu. Ships and ferries and powerboats and sailboats were headed north and east and south, passing to port and starboard. Silver wakes rolled outward, crossed and subsided. Sunlight glittered on the green sea and on the harbor and the land. I want this always in my heart he thought. I want it forever.

At full gallop the sloop tore past the red steel frame of a clanging bell. Mitchell shoved the tiller down and the hull answered the helm, pivoting hard on the keel and driving headlong into the wide inner harbor. The mast angle was fifty degrees with the hull on its side and flying. The sails strained like curved white steel as the sloop entered into the afternoon’s great parade of boats.

"The rail is buried!" Andy shouted and his head was level with Mitchell’s hip as he danced a hilarious jig down in the sea water pouring over the starboard deck onto the bench.

Mitchell looked down at the rail running underwater and his face flushed with adrenalin. The deck was awash, foam sloshing into the cockpit. "Adios, old ghost of Mexico!" He bellowed so loud it hurt his lungs. "We’re here, old world! You son of a bitch, we’re here!"