“Well, I don’t want you interfering and giving orders to the men,” answered the mate.
“Suppose we take our orders from Mr Brace here.” Briscoe turned to Brace. “What do you say, sir—do you think my advice is good?”
“Yes, Lynton, it is good,” said Brace firmly. “Do as Mr Briscoe says.”
“All right, sir; I’ll take my orders from you as I would from your brother; but I’m not going to be hustled about over my work by a Yankee who came aboard as a stowaway.”
“That will do, Mr Lynton,” said Brace haughtily. “I’d be willing to take my orders from any man if I felt that they were right, as I know these are, and you do too if you will only be a little reasonable and think.”
“I don’t want any thinking, sir,” said Lynton frankly. “Yes, it’s right enough. Pull, my lads, a good steady stroke, one that you can keep up for a month. Swing that sail over. That’s right. Now we’re off on the other tack.”
He spoke out quite cheerily now, and handled the tiller so that the boat glided off in the opposite direction to that in which she had been sailing, and for the next half-hour they tacked and tacked about, sailing as close as they could to the wind, which was blowing gently right for the falls.
Their course was a series of tacks, which, if they were represented on paper, would be marked as a zigzag, and had the breeze been fresher the sailing qualities of the boat would have enabled her to easily master the current which was steadily carrying them towards the falls.
But instead of freshening, the wind, which was making the leaves quiver ashore, seemed to be growing fainter and fainter as they came nearer to the thundering falls, for it was plain enough that in spite of all their efforts the current was the stronger, and that it was only a question of time before the pulling of the men would become weaker and the boat would be drawn right on and on into the churned-up foaming water, and then—