“I don’t particularly care about it,” said Bart. “Don’t any of you fellows want to?”
“O, no. We don’t care. You steer, Bart. We’ll hoist the sails.”
So Bart turned away with rather a blank expression on his face, and walked slowly to the rudder. The wind was moderate, and the water only a little ruffled. The other boys, with immense confusion and shouting, toiled away at the sails one after the other, and at last managed to get them set.
“Perhaps we’d better not have the foresail up,” suggested Bart.
“O, yes. Why not?” said Bruce. “Come, boys—up she rises!”
And shouting out a sailor’s song which he had once heard, he completed his work.
The vessel moved gently through the water, and Bart pointed her head towards the island which he considered to be O’Rafferty’s. The wind was fair, and the vessel came around very easily, and then headed away for the island.
Now, it happened that, as Bart belonged to a seaport town, and as his father was a merchant, and as Bart himself had once experienced a sea fever, and had been almost on the point of running away to sea,—he had, very naturally, been always regarded among his companions as a great authority on all matters connected with seamanship. And so, to a certain extent, he was. He knew all about the rigging of a ship, and understood, in a general way, the principles on which she sailed. He was also a good oarsman; but in point of fact, he had never handled a sail-boat in his life. This was owing to his father’s prudence, who allowed him to go out rowing whenever he pleased, but never permitted him to have a sail-boat. And so it happened that Bart knew no more about sailing than any one on board.
However, there was no help for it; and he had to take the tiller and assume the responsibility of the situation. After a time he began to gain confidence. The wind was moderate, the schooner was going in a straight course, and O’Rafferty’s Island was full before him.
They went on for a long time, when at length Bruce exclaimed,—