“A’most too much, massa,” said the negro in a suggestive shout.
“Right, Moses,” returned his master. “I was just thinking we must risk it.”
“Risk what? I wonder,” thought Nigel.
He had not long to wait for an answer to his thought.
“Down wi’ the mainsail,” was quickly followed by the lowering of the foresail until not more than a mere corner was shown, merely to keep the canoe end-on to the seas. Soon even this was lowered, and Van der Kemp used his double-blade paddle to keep them in position, at the same time telling Nigel to unship the mast.
“And plug the hole with that,” he added, handing him a bit of wood which exactly fitted the hole in the deck.
Watching for another lull in the blast, the hermit at last gave the order, and round they came as before, head to wind, but not quite so easily, and Nigel felt that they had narrowly escaped overturning in the operation.
“Keep her so, Moses. You can help with your paddle, Nigel, while I get ready our anchor.”
“Anchor!” exclaimed our hero in amazement—obeying orders, however, at the same moment.
The hermit either did not hear the exclamation or did not care to notice it. He quickly collected the mast and sails, with a couple of boat-hooks and all the paddles excepting two single ones. These he bound together by means of the sheets and halyards, attached the whole to a hawser,—one end of which passed through an iron ring at the bow—and tossed it into the sea—paying out the hawser rapidly at the same time so as to put a few yards between them and their floating anchor—if it may be so called—in the lee of which they prepared to ride out the gale.