CHARLEY and Harry took in their sails, keeping the canoes head to sea with an occasional stroke of the paddle. When all was made snug, and the moment for turning the canoes had arrived, they realized that they were about to attempt the most hazardous feat of the whole cruise.
“Can we do it?” asked Harry, doubtfully.
“We’ve got to do it,” replied Charley.
“Why can’t we unship our rudders and back water till we get to the reeds?”
“It might be possible, but the chances are that we would be swamped. The seas would overtake us, and we couldn’t keep out of the way of them. No, we’ve got to turn around and sail back in the regular way.”
“You know best, of course,” said Harry; “but what’s the use of taking in our sails before we turn around? We’ll have trouble in setting them again with the wind astern.”
“We can turn the canoes quicker without sails than we could with the sails set, and every second that we can gain is worth something. Besides, if we are capsized it will be an advantage to have the sails furled. But we’re wasting time. Let your canoe get right astern of mine, so that mine will keep a little of the sea off of you; then watch for two or three big seas and turn your canoe when they have passed.”
Harry followed his friend’s instructions, and succeeded in turning his canoe without accident. Then Charley, getting into the lee of the Sunshine, did his best to imitate Harry’s successful feat. He managed to turn the canoe, but while in the act a heavy sea rolled into the cockpit and filled the Midnight absolutely full. The beef-bladders, however, kept the canoe afloat, but she lay like a log on the water, and every successive wave swept over her.