While the two boys were talking they had adjusted the mast and rigged the little leg-of-mutton sail. It was plain to both boys that if conditions continued favorable they had found an easier way by which they could return to their hotel than by trying to row.
“Come on,” called Fred cheerily, his courage now having returned in full measure. “Come on. Don’t let’s stay here any longer than we have to.”
“I’m with you,” responded John. “Now who’s going to sail this boat first?”
“You are, by unanimous consent; I think it will be safer for the crew to have you sitting in the stern than it will be to have you crawling around the bow.”
The mystery of the sail had not been explained, but whoever had left it plainly had intended that it should be used.
The wind was light but the little skiff drew rapidly away from the shore of Western Duck Island, and as he glanced behind him Fred said, “I feel almost as Columbus must have felt when he set forth in his three tubs to find a new world.”
“I never knew that Columbus sailed in three boats before,” laughed John.
“I didn’t mean that Columbus himself sailed in three boats, at least at the same time. I used his name as the name of his whole party. I forgot for the minute what kind of material I was dealing with.”
“Never you mind that,” retorted John. “You just watch me while I sail this boat. I’m going to head her up the shore toward Drummond Island. If we can make that I think we’ll be all right for the rest of the way.”
“And if we don’t make it what are you going to do?” said Fred more seriously.