“Is anything wrong, sir?” I asked anxiously.
“No—no! Everything is right,” he answered. “We are saved—the revolution is saved! Hurrah for the revolution!”
Joy affects some people that way, but I have no patience with men who cry.
We got up steam presently, but found the Seagull was leaking like a sieve. It took all the power of our engines to keep the pumps going; so my father ordered sail hoisted, and as the wind had moderated to a stiff breeze we were soon bowling along with the mainsail and jib set. The mizzenmast had gone by the board at the time of the wreck.
My father’s face wore an anxious expression and he called Uncle Naboth and me into the cabin for a consultation.
“We can keep afloat this way for a time—perhaps for days, if the leaks don’t get worse,” he said; “but it’s foolish to take such chances. There are islands near by, I’m sure. Shall we stop at the first one we sight?”
“H-m. It might prove to be another Faytan,” said my uncle, doubtfully. “I’ve had enough fighting to last me for a while.”
“Wait a moment,” said I. “I want to get Bry.”
“What for?” demanded my father.
“He’s the only one aboard who knows these seas,” I replied.