Jack paid this boyish jest with a word that was sharp and a look that was too near a grin not to take the sting from it. He took the killock that Jerry had brought, and had the men make it fast to the lower point of the kite-like frame where the short boat-booms met. To the ends of the long spinnaker-boom he fastened lengths of strong inch Manilla, and a piece somewhat shorter to the point where the killock was attached. The captain meant that the "sea-anchor," when in the water, should ride not exactly vertical, but that by the shorter line the weighted point should be lifted a little toward the yacht as the Merle dragged back on it. In the end of each of these lines a bow-line was bent, and through the bights of them he had the rode bent and made fast. The whole contrivance was then like a triangular kite weighted at the point made by the shorter sides, and held by lines from the three corners joined on the rode, which corresponded to the string. When the work was finished Jack inspected it all carefully, and examined the fastenings.
"It's a rough enough concern," he said to Jerry; "but it's stanch, and if we have to use it, it'll do good service. Make it fast," he added to the men. "Put on a couple of strong gaskets for stoppers. Come on, Tab; I don't want another ducking."
They went aft to the cockpit, and the captain started to go below.
"I'll just take another look at that glass," he said. "It's well to keep a"—
"Look!" cried Jerry suddenly, seizing him by the arm, and pointing away to the southward.
Jack's eyes followed the mate's arm. Afar off on the gloomy horizon, the black sea below and the gray sky above were in one place welded together by a wall of impenetrable haze. It was not much more than a spot, but Jack at a glance took in its full significance, and knew that before the Merle was a struggle that would try her strength and his seamanship to the very utmost. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed his lips firmly without a word. He looked a moment at the inky mist, and then dashed below. In a couple of minutes he reappeared with a grim look on his usually genial face.
"Jerry," he said hurriedly, "I've been down and tried the storm-card on the chart. If we keep on as she's going, we'll fetch up plumb in the centre of this mess. The Merle wouldn't live there half an hour."
"Well?" questioned Jerry. His face was sober, and had about it a suggestion of a big, serious dog that watches its troubled master. "What can we do?"
"There is only one thing to do," Jack responded quickly, but with absolute decision. "The centre bears southwesterly,—that's why our wind's hauled 'round. We've got to put about and run into the heart of that greasy streak yonder. It'll be a tough job, but not so bad as if we were farther westward. When we get the wind westerly, we'll lay to. If we do anything else, we'll be swept into the centre, sure's fate."
"Can't we run it out?" Jerry asked desperately. "It'll be tremendous! That blow we had coming over'll be pale beside it. Think, man!"