“I'll make a cross-bearing for you. Where's your chart?” Mayo exhibited a sailor's alert anxiety to be helpful.
“I 'ain't ever needed a chart—not for this coast.”
“Then I'll have to guess at it, sir.” He closed his eyes in order to concentrate. “You gave a course of sou'west by sou'. Let's see—it was nine-fifteen when I just looked and we must have logged—”
“It ain't no use to stab for such a hole in the wall as Lumbo Reach,” declared Candage in discouraged tones.
“But you've got your compass and I can—”
“There ain't no depending on my compass within two points and a half.”
“Confound it, I can make allowance, sir, if you'll tell me your deviation!”
“But it's a card compass and spins so bad in a seaway there ain't no telling, anyway. In my coasting I haven't had to be particular.”
“Not as long as you had an apple-tree in sight,” jeered Mayo, beginning to lose his temper.
“I don't dare to run in the direction of anything that is solid—we'll hit it sure, 'n' hell-fire will toast corn bread. We've got to stay to sea!”