We loaded up the boat and pulled off, a little stiff but fairly fit after all. The group waved us off and then stood obviously talking [pg 198] us over. One of the men called after us, with a sudden inspiration, “Pity ye’ hevn’t got a motor in there!”
Though we didn’t want to be a motor-boat, we were not above receiving courtesies from one, and when the Providence tacitly invoked by our hostess sent one chugging along up to us, with the proposal to take us in tow, we accepted with great contentment. The morning was not half over when we made our next landing, and looked up the captain who was to tow us “around Judith.”
For in the matter of Point Judith our friends and advisers had been unanimously firm. There should be a limit, they said, even to the foolishness of a holiday plan. With a light boat, we might have braved their disapproval, but loaded as we were, we decided to be prudent.
“I’d hate to lose the guns,” said Jonathan.
“Yes, and the camera,” I added.
So we accepted the offer of a good friend’s knockabout, and sailed around the dreaded Point with our little boat tailing behind at the end of her rope. We saw no water that we could not have met in her, but, as our [pg 199] friends did not fail to point out, that proved nothing whatever.
At Stonington we were left once more to our little boat and our four oars, and there we pulled her up and caulked her.
Strange, how we are always trying to avoid mishaps, and yet when they come we are so often glad of them! A leaky boat had not been in our plans, but if we could change that first wild row across the big bay, if we could cut out that leakiness, that puddling bottom, the difficult shifts of baling and rowing, would we? We would not. Again, as we look back over the days of our cruise, we could ill spare those hours of labor on the hot stretch of sunny beach between the wharves, where we bent half-blinded over the dazzling white boat, our spirits irritated, our fingers aching as they worked at the push-push-push of the cotton waste between the strakes. We said hard words of the man who thought he had put our boat in order for us, and yet—if we could cut out those hours of grumbling toil, would we? We would not. For one thing, we should perhaps have missed the precious word of advice given us by a man who sat and [pg 200] watched us. He recommended us to put a little motor in the stern. He pointed out to us that rowing was pretty hard work. We said we liked it. His face wore the expression I have already described.
We launched her again at dusk. Next morning Jonathan was a moment ahead of me on the wharf.
“Any water in her?” I called, following hard.