“Awful lubberly,” said Mark. “But what are we to do?”
“Pull away, anyhow,” said Bevis.
Mark put out the scull, pushed her off, and after some trouble pulled till her head came round. Then he shipped the scull, and they began to sail again.
“We haven’t got an inch,” said Bevis. “Just look; there are the rails.”
They had made about twenty yards, but in missing stays twice, drifting, and rowing round, had lost it all before the boat could get right again, before the sails began to draw well.
“What ever is it?” said Mark. “What is it we don’t do?”
“I can’t think,” said Bevis. “It’s very stupid. That’s better.”
There was a hissing and bubbling, and the boat, impelled by a stronger puff, rushed along, and seemed to edge a way up into the wind.
“Splendid,” said Mark. “We shall get above the Nile this time, we shall get to the willow.”
A willow-tree stood on the shore that side some way up. The boat appeared to move direct for it.