“No: couldn’t do it. We must stand out more to sea.”
“Out to sea!” cried Mike, aghast: “with the boat filling with water?”
“Well, we can’t go the other way. Besides, if we did old Joe would see us pass by, and there’d be a row.”
“Well, he must know. He’ll see the hole in the bottom,—if we get back,” Mike muttered to himself. “But, Vince,” he cried, “hadn’t we better run ashore somewhere?”
“Yes: where’s it to be?” said the boy, with a curious laugh. “Nonsense! We should only sink her at once. There, I must go on baling. It’s the only thing we can do, Mikey. Turn her head to it, and run right across the tide. It’s getting slacker here. Keep her head well to it. I won’t let her sink.”
Mike groaned.
“Hullo!” cried Vince cheerily, “is it hard work?”
There was no reply, but the boat careened over as from the fresh pressure of the oar the sail caught the full force of the wind, and they began to run swiftly towards the south-east, right out to sea, but with the intent of running back after reaching well out to south of the island.
It seemed like madness, with the boat leaking as she did, but Vince was right. It was their only chance; and after a few minutes he said, as if to himself:
“I’m going to do a stupid thing. I ought to hold that sheet in my hand, but I want both for baling. Be on the look-out, Ladle. Mind you throw her up in the wind if she goes over too much.”