We set to work to bail her out, but soon found that she leaked so much that it was hopeless to attempt it.
“She’s no use as she is,” I said. “We must get her up ashore and see what we can do to her.”
“That’s all very well, but how can we haul her up full of water?” answered both Bill and Tom in a breath.
“Why, where water comes in, it must be able to go out; and every bit we raise her out of the water, she will empty herself.”
“True; but we’re not strong enough to haul her up the weight she is now.”
“I have it!” I cried, after thinking a minute or two. “Let’s put a palm trunk against two of the uprights of the house, and bringing the cable to it, rig a Spanish windlass. And some of those small palms I see you’ve been cutting for ridge-poles and rafters will do for handspikes and rollers.”
My proposal was hailed with delight, and from the small palms, which were not more than three or four inches in diameter, we soon cut some levers and rollers, and essayed to heave the boat up. We found, however, that our utmost efforts would not move the boat when she was once solidly aground, and that, heave as we might, we only buried her bows in the sand.
After wasting our strength for about a quarter of an hour, we stopped to regain our breath, and walking down to the boat, Tom said he would pass the cable round her outside, so as not to bury her; and this being done we gave another heave, but with no better results than before.
“Seems to me,” I said, “these handspikes are too short.”
“That may be,” answered Tom, “but how are we to reach the tops of longer ones?”