Now it really seemed as if we were making some progress out of that wretched current, for the white cottage on the cliff appeared farther astern than it had done since we began to row, and we were beginning to congratulate ourselves on our success, when Hall, who had for some time been anxiously watching the shore, cried out—
“For goodness’ sake pull hard, you fellows! we are drifting in fast. Here, Charlie, take the helm, and keep her the way she is, while I get down the sail. It’s no use now. Mind your heads, but don’t stop rowing,” he shouted to us, as he let down the sail suddenly, and lowered the mast. “Keep her head out, Charlie, whatever you do. Let go that rope beside you. That’s right. Now take hold of that end of the mast and slip it under the seat.”
So saying he managed to get down the mast and stow it away without impeding either the rowing or the steering, and immediately the advantage of the step was manifest in the steadier motion of the boat, although we groaned inwardly at the thought of having now all the distance to row. At least I groaned inwardly. Hutton was hardly as reserved.
“I tell you what,” he said to me, stopping rowing, “I don’t know what you and the other fellows intend to do, but I can’t row any more. I’ve been at it an hour together.”
“What are we to do, then?” inquired I.
“Why shouldn’t Hall take a turn? He’s been doing nothing.”
“He’s been steering,” replied I, “and he’s the only fellow who knows how, and Charlie’s not strong enough to row.”
“Well, all I can say is, I don’t mean to row any longer.”
All this had been said in an undertone to me, but now Hall cried out—
“What are you shopping for, Hutton? Pull away, man, or we shall never get out of this.”