“I regret it,” said Paganel, “for the yawl might have taken us to Auckland.”
“We must bear our fate, Monsieur Paganel,” replied John Mangles. “But, for my part, in such a stormy sea I prefer our raft to that crazy boat. A very slight shock would be enough to break her up. Therefore, my lord, we have nothing to detain us further.”
“As you think best, John.”
“On then, Wilson,” said John, “and bear straight for the land.”
There was still an hour before the turn of the tide. In that time they might make two miles. But the wind soon fell almost entirely, and the raft became nearly motionless, and soon began to drift to seaward under the influence of the ebb-tide.
John did not hesitate a moment.
“Let go the anchor,” said he.
Mulrady, who stood to execute this order, let go the anchor in five fathoms water. The raft backed about two fathoms on the line, which was then at full stretch. The sail was taken in, and everything made snug for a tedious period of inaction.
The returning tide would not occur till nine o’clock in the evening; and as John Mangles did not care to go on in the dark, the anchorage was for the night, or at least till five o’clock in the morning, land being in sight at a distance of less than three miles.
A considerable swell raised the waves, and seemed to set in continuously toward the coast, and perceiving this, Glenarvan asked John why he did not take advantage of this swell to get nearer to the land.