As he spoke he made the sheet fast, rolled up his sleeves, and, taking the pot in both hands, began to make the water fly over the side.
“I say, Ladle,” he cried, “when I’m tired you’ll have to take a turn; but don’t she go along splendidly with all this water ballast in her?”
“Yes,” said Mike huskily. “Are you getting it down?”
“Yes, a little. Not much; but if you sail her well we shall run in all right.”
“Aren’t we going out too far to sea?”
“No; just right. Now, then, don’t talk. I want all my breath for working.”
Setting his teeth, the boy baled away, and by slow degrees lowered the water a good deal; but he could not cease for a moment, for it surged in through the leak, nor did he dare to push the jersey farther, for fear of loosening the plank more and making a bigger hole.
This went on for fully half an hour, with the island getting more and more distant, and Mike twice over asked if it was not time to make for the shore.
But Vince shook his head, after a glance back at the south point, and worked away at the baling.
“Now,” he said suddenly, “I want to go on, but I’m getting slow. Be ready to jump into my place and scoop it out. I’ll catch hold of the oar. Ready?”