“Now we have no force to man her. Little Jack and myself are the only sailors on board.”
“But not the only men.”
“That is true. I think, however, that you or the professor would find it rather hard to spread or take in sail.”
Mr. Stubbs looked up into the rigging and shrugged his shoulders.
The next day Mr. Clinton appeared on deck. He looked faded and played out, but he was no longer the woebegone creature of a day or two previous. Even he turned out to be of use, for he knew something about cooking, and volunteered to assist in preparing the meals, the ship’s cook having left the ship with the captain. Accordingly, he rose in the estimation of the passengers—having proved that he was not wholly a drone.
Jack and Harry grew still more intimate. The young sailor was under no restraint now that the captain was not on board, for with the mate he had always been a favorite.
All efforts were made to keep the ship on her course. They could not put up all the sails, however, and made but slow progress. They did little but drift. Nor did they encounter any other vessel for several days, so that there was no chance of obtaining the desired assistance.
“I wonder where it will all end, Jack?” said Harry, one evening.
“I don’t trouble myself much about that, Harry,” said the young sailor. “I am content as I am.”
“Don’t you look ahead, then?”