“Heigh-ho! though,” he added, “it may be of little use in the long run; but if Heaven in its mercy would but send a gale and open up this terrible sea of weeds, then with our jury-masts and try-sails we might float away and get free.”
“Well, sir, I have hopes anyhow. Mind, the birds, you know, must be home long, long before now.”
. . . . . .
The very next day not one but two boats forced their way after terrible exertions to the derelict, and the work was commenced.
She had been a taller ship, this derelict, than the Zingara—much, so it was found that her masts cut from the main deck would be high enough to form jury-masts for the Zingara.
The work, however, was indeed hard and difficult in the extreme.
But from the very day the men began it, all signs of sickness departed.
Sister Leona was wise. It was the towing of the spars towards the Zingara through the awful tangle of weeds that was the most difficult task, and, indeed, two whole weeks passed by before the masts were fairly hoisted on board.
Then the work of stepping them commenced. At this every one on board worked with a will—excepting, of course, Teenie and Sister Leona, but even they assisted with their cheerful talk and encouraging smiles.
Pandoo proved almost as strong as either of the black men, and poor Johnnie Smart did his best, although bathed in perspiration. When fairly beaten out, Johnnie would sink on the deck, wipe his steaming face, and—just laugh.