“Yes, my lad, and as it runs in won’t the weight of the water outside push the canvas closer and closer in round the leak?”
“Yes, of course,” cried Rodd. “I didn’t think of that. And as there gets less inside it will seem to suck the canvas closer to.”
“Quite right, my lad. That’s about the way it works; and now we have got to wait for about an hour before we can know whether we have got both holes covered, or only one.”
“Wait for an hour?” cried Rodd.
“Well, perhaps, before we are sure; but I dare say I shall be going down and sounding the well a time or two before that.”
But long before the hour had elapsed the skipper found that though the water in the brig had subsided to a certain extent, one of the holes must be still uncovered, and he began at once to repeat his proceedings, coming to the conclusion that one of the bullet-holes was beyond the reach of the canvas. This time, after all was drawn tight, half-an-hour’s pumping proved that his surmises were correct, and the skipper smiled with satisfaction as the Count and his men cheered them in delight on finding after a good deal of pumping that there was a very perceptible diminution of the water in the hold.
“It is superb, and so simple,” cried the Count to Uncle Paul; “but I feel humbled, sir. Why could not our French sailors have been able to do this?”
“Well,” said Uncle Paul good-humouredly, “the only reason I can give is that they were not English.”
“That’s it, sir,” said the skipper. “You have hit the right nail on the head. But look here, Mr Count—I don’t know your name.”
“Des Saix,” said the Count, smiling.