“I’ve been thinking about that,” I replied. “I do not expect the pirates will trouble their heads about us any more, now that they have lost sight of us; but they way, and it will be just as well to provide against any such contingency. If they resume the chase, they will most probably look for us somewhere on the course we were steering when last seen, or else to the northward. There is nothing to take us to the southward, so that is the most improbable direction, in my opinion, in which they are likely to look for us; and that, therefore, is the direction in which I propose to steer. Let us make the craft snug, and stand away to the southward and eastward, full and by, and at eight o’clock to-morrow morning we will go about and make a leg to the northward and eastward for perhaps twenty-four hours. This will place us well to windward, and in about the last spot in the world where he would think of looking for us. What do you think of the plan, Bob?”
“Fust rate,” responded that worthy; “a reg’lar traverse, and about the most in-and-out bit of carcumvention as the ingenuity o’ man could invent. Let’s set about it at once, my lad; and by the time as we’ve cleared up a bit, and made things comfortable, it’ll be time to see about gettin’ tea.”
We accordingly set about “making things comfortable” forthwith. The balloon-topsail was carefully rolled up and put away, the spinnaker (which we had only allowed to run in close to the mast, and had hastily secured with a stop or two) ditto, and our topmast housed; the spinnaker-boom was run in, unrigged, and secured, and we then gibed the mainsail over, and stood away, close-hauled, about south-east, the little Lily staggering along in regular racing style under whole lower canvas, when by rights, with the amount of wind we had, we ought to have had at least one reef down, and the Number 1 jib shifted for Number 2.
However, we were used to carrying on by this time, and had become so thoroughly intimate with the cutter’s sail-carrying powers that we knew we might safely give her all the canvas her spars would bear.
By the time that all was done, and our gun (which we did not think it worth while to dismount and stow away again for the present) carefully covered over with its painted canvas coat, the sun was on the verge of the horizon, the weather having a settled appearance, with a promise of the breeze holding good through the night.
Chapter Twelve.
The Wreck of the “Copernicus.”
At eight o’clock next morning, nothing having occurred during the night worthy of record, we went about and stood away about north-east on the starboard tack. The wind continued fresh, but steady, and we averaged quite thirteen knots during the whole of the next twenty-four hours.