“Capital, only we’ve no boom. What must I do?”
“Nothing; you’ll see. Sit still—in the middle. Now.”
Bevis put the tiller over to windward. The boat paid off rapidly to leeward, and described a circle, the mainsail passing over to the opposite side, and as it took the wind giving a jerk to the mast.
Mark tightened the other foresheet, and they began to sail back again.
“But just look!” said he.
“Horrid,” said Bevis.
In describing the circle they had lost not only what they had gained, but were level with the mouth of the Nile, and not five yards from the shore at the head of the gulf. It was as much this tack as they could do to get above the railings; they were fifteen yards at least below the rushes, when Bevis put the tiller up to windward, and tried the same thing again. The boat turned a circle to leeward, and before she could get right round and begin to sail again, they had gone so near the shore, drifting, that Mark had to put out the scull in case they should bump. In crossing this time the wind blew so light that they could not get above the mouth of the Nile.
“It’s no use wearing ship,” said Mark.
“Not a bit; we lose more than ever. You’d better row again,” said Bevis reluctantly.
Mark pulled her round again, and they sailed to and fro three times more, but did but keep their position, for the wind was perceptibly less as the day went on, and it became near noon.