“Will you make it, Sam?”
“Can’t say, Uncle Naboth. But I’ll try.”
“Cargo insured?”
“No; that’s the worst of it. The owners insure themselves, because the tub won’t pass at Lloyd’s. If we sink it’s a big loss. So we mustn’t sink.”
“Iron won’t float, nevvy.”
“I’m going to hug the coast, mostly. If trouble comes I’ll beach her. You may be in for a long cruise, Uncle.”
He nodded quite pleasantly.
“That’s all right. I take it we’ll manage to get home by Spring, an’ that’s time enough fer us both. But I can see she ain’t a race-hoss, Sam, my boy.”
Indeed, the ship was not behaving at all to suit me. With a favorable breeze and an easy sea the miserable old hulk was sailing more like a water-logged raft than a modern merchantman.
Her sails and cordage were new and beautiful, and her paint spick and span; but I noticed my sailors wagging their heads with disappointment as the Gladys H. labored through the water.