"She is walking along now," Ryan said joyously. "I had no idea that sailing was as jolly as it is."
They sped along all day and, before noon, had passed Bilbao. As the afternoon wore on the wind increased in force, and the clouds began to pass rapidly overhead, from the southeast.
"We had better get her in to the shore," Terence said. "Even with this scrap of sail, we keep on taking the water in on that lower side. I expect Santander lies beyond that point that runs out ahead of us, and we will land somewhere this side of it."
But as soon as they turned the boat's head towards the shore, and hauled in the sheet as tightly as they could, they found that, try as they would, they could not get her to lie her course.
"We sha'n't make the point at all," Terence said, half an hour after they had changed the course. "Besides, we have been nearly over, two or three times. I dare say fellows who understood a boat well could manage it but, if we hold on like this, we shall end by drowning ourselves. I think the best plan will be to lower the sail and mast, and row straight to shore."
"I quite agree with you," Ryan said. "Sailing is pleasant enough in a fair wind, but I cannot say I care for it, as it is now."
With some difficulty, for the sea was getting up, they lowered the sail and mast and, getting out the oars, turned her head straight for the shore. Both were accustomed to rowing in still water, but they found that this was very different work. After struggling at the oars for a couple of hours, they both agreed that they were a good deal farther away from the land than when they began.
"It is of no use, Dick," Terence said. "If we cannot make against the wind while we are fresh, we certainly cannot do so when we are tired; and my arms feel as if they would come out of their sockets."
"So do mine," Ryan said, with a groan. "I am aching all over, and both my hands are raw with this rough handle. What are we to do, then, Terence?"