The boat was now half full of water.
“Down the helm—hard down,” roared Gaff.
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded Billy, with the ready promptitude of a seaman.
The boat flew round; at the same moment Gaff hurled the bundle of sails and spars overboard, and eased off the coil of rope to the end of which it was attached. In a few seconds it was about forty yards away to windward, and formed a sort of floating breakwater, which, slight though it was, proved to be sufficient to check the full force of the seas, so that the little boat found partial shelter to leeward.
The shelter was terribly slight, however; only just sufficient to save them from absolute destruction; and it was still necessary for one of their number to be constantly employed in baling out the water.
During the night the clouds cleared away, but there was no abatement of the wind; and having no water they were obliged to eat their allowance of biscuit either in a dry state or moistened in the sea.
Next day the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and all day it shone upon them fiercely, and the wind moderated enough to render baling unnecessary, but still they did not dare to haul in their floating bulwark.
Extreme thirst now assailed them, and Graddy began in an excited state to drink copiously of salt water.
“Don’t go for to do that, cap’n,” remonstrated Gaff.
A derisive laugh was the only reply.