“Five miles, I should think,” said Tom, “at least.”
“So should I; but, then, we can’t be certain. There may be currents, or we may be deceived in our estimate. Let’s say four, and then we’ll feel certain. It’s after twelve now; we left at six; that’s six hours.”
“Four miles an hour—little enough,” said Tom. “Well, that’s twenty-four miles. If this sort of thing can only be kept up, we’ll get to St. Pierre in no time.”
“That’s the very thing,” said Arthur,—“if it can only be kept up. But I’m afraid it’s a little too good to last.”
“At any rate,” said Tom, cheerily, “we’ll make the best of it while we can.”
Arthur’s forebodings, though not based upon any ground of alarm, were, however, actually justified by the event, and not very long after. For scarcely had they finished their repast, when they became aware of a very serious increase in the wind. A series of puffs, which almost amounted to squalls, came down, and in a very short time the sea began to rise to a very unpleasant extent.
“We’ll have to keep in closer,” said Arthur.
“Yes,” said Tom, “fortunately the wind’s off the land, and, if we can get in nearer, we’ll be all right.”
But it was not so easy to get in nearer. Tom, however, took a paddle, while Arthur held the boat as close to the wind as possible, and thus, in process of time, they drew her in far enough to get into smoother water. This was not accomplished without some trifling casualties: several waves dashed their spray into the boat, and they shipped one sea which was heavy enough to drench them both, and leave as much as a barrel full of salt water behind. This showed them what they might expect if they dared to keep too far away from the land.
They were now close in to the shore, and they proceeded onward slowly, but securely. It was not quite equal to their previous progress, but it was free from danger and inconvenience.