Frank did not want to enjoy any sensation of a sudden kind and jibing, as he understood it, was always unexpected. He asked which way he ought to push the tiller so as to make sure of reaching the starboard tack. Priscilla stood beside the mast and delivered a long, very confusing lecture on the effect of the rudder on the boat and the advantage of hauling down one or other of the foresail sheets when getting under way from anchor. Frank did not understand much of what she said, but was ashamed to ask for more information. Priscilla, on her knees under the foresail, tugged at the anchor rope. The Tortoise quivered slightly, but did not move. Priscilla, leaning well back, tugged harder. The Tortoise—it is impossible to speak of a boat except as a live thing with a capricious will—shook herself irritably.
“She’s slap over the anchor,” said Priscilla. “I can’t think how she gets there for there’s plenty of rope out; but there she is and I can’t move the beastly thing. Perhaps you’ll try. You may be stronger than I am. I expect it has got stuck somehow behind a rock.”
Frank felt confident that he was stronger in the arms than Priscilla. He crept forward and put his whole strength into a pull on the anchor rope. The Tortoise twisted herself broadside on to the breeze and then listed over to windward. Priscilla looked round her in amazement. The breeze was certainly very light, but it was contrary to her whole experience that a boat with sails set should heel over towards the wind. She told Frank to stop pulling. The Tortoise slowly righted herself and then drifted back to her natural position, head to wind.
“The only thing I can think of,” said Priscilla, “is that the anchor rope has got round the centreboard. It might. You never can tell exactly what an anchor rope will do. However, if it has, we’ve nothing to do but haul up the centreboard and clear it.”
She took the centreboard rope and pulled. Frank joined her and they both pulled. The centreboard remained immovable. The Tortoise was entirely unaffected by their pulling.
“Jammed,” said Priscilla. “I feel a jolly sight less like that dove than I did. It looks rather as if we were going to spend the day here. I don’t want to cut the rope and lose the anchor if I can possibly help it, but of course it may come to that in the end, though even then I’m not sure that we’ll get clear.”
“Can we do nothing?” said Frank.
“This,” said Priscilla, “is a case for prolonged and cool-headed reasoning. You reason your best and I’ll bring all the resources of my mind to bear on the problem!”
She sat down in the bottom of the boat and gazed thoughtfully at the stone perch. Frank, to whom the nature of the problem was obscure, also gazed at the stone perch, but without much hope of finding inspiration. Priscilla looked round suddenly.
“We might try poking at it with the blade of an oar,” she said. “I don’t think it will be much use, but there’s no harm trying.”