“No keel! And ought she to have a keel?”
“Well, I think she’d be the better of one,” said Harry, smiling.
“Let us get back, Sir—let us get back at once! This is the reverse of agreeable to me. I don’t understand, and I don’t enjoy it. Put mc ashore anywhere, and leave me to find my way how I can. There—yonder, where you see the rocks—land me there!”
“If I tried it, you’d find your way sure enough, but it would be into the next world! Don’t you see the white line there? Those are breakers!”
“Then turn back, Sir, I command, I implore you,” cried he, with a voice shaking with terror.
“I’ll put about when the wind slackens. I can’t do it just yet. Have a little patience. Take the rudder a moment.”
“No, Sir; I refuse—I decidedly refuse. I protest against any share in what may happen.”
“Perhaps it will be past protesting if you don’t do what I tell you. Hold this, and mind my orders. Keep the tiller so till I cry out hard down; mind me, now—no mistake.” And not waiting for more, he sprang into the bow of the boat as she ran up into the wind, and held out the foresail to the breeze. “Down helm—hard down!” cried he; and round she spun at once, and so rapidly, that the lee gunwale went under water, and M’Kinlay, believing she had upset, uttered one wild cry and fell senseless into the bottom of the boat. Not much grieved at his condition—perhaps, on the whole, almost glad to be rid of his company—Harry lighted a cigar and steered for shore. In less than half an hour they gained the slack water of the little bay, and M’Kinlay, gathering himself up, asked if they were nigh land.
“Close in; get up and have a cigar,” said Harry, curtly.
“No, Sir; I will not.”