“Lots of magic goes on in the south,” said Bevis. “I believe we’re very nearly on the equator; just feel how hot the gunwale is,”—the wood was warm from the sunshine—“and the sun goes overhead every day, and it’s so, light at night. We will bring the astrolabe and take an observation—I say!”
The Pinta brought up with a sudden jerk. They had run on a shoal.
“Wrecked!” shouted Mark joyfully. “But there are no waves. It’s no good with these ripples.”
Bevis pushed the Pinta off with a scull, and so feeling the bottom, told Mark to ease the tiller and sail more to the right. Two minutes afterwards they grounded again, and again pushed off. On the left, or eastern side, they saw a broad channel leading up through the weeds. Bevis told Mark to tack up there. Mark did so, and they slowly advanced with the weeds each side. The tacks were short, and as the wind was so light they made little progress. Presently the channel turned south; then they ran faster; next it turned sharp to the east, and came back. In trying to tack here Mark ran into the weeds.
“Stupe!” said Bevis.
“That I’m not,” said Mark. “You can’t do it.”
“Can’t I?” said Bevis contemptuously.
“Try then,” said Mark, and he left the tiller. Bevis took it and managed two tacks very well. At the third he too ran into the weeds, for in fact the channel was so narrow there was no time to get weigh on the ship.
“Stupe yourself,” said Mark.
He tried to row out, but every time he got a pull the wind blew them back, and they had to let the mainsail down.