The true speed of the Grosvenor was about nine and a half knots—certainly not more; and whether the carpenter should believe the report of the log or not, was nothing to me.
"Log it fifteen on the slate, bo'sun, and keep the log going every hour," I said, and went below again.
I saw, as was now my regular custom at every meal, that the steward took a good breakfast to the Robertsons' cabin, and then sat down with Stevens to the morning repast.
I took this opportunity of suggesting that if the wind held, and the vessel maintained her present rate of speed, we might hope to be in the Gulf of Mexico in a fortnight.
"How do you make that out? It was three weeks yesterday."
"And it might have been a month," I answered. "But a few days of this kind of sailing, let me tell you, Mr. Stevens, make a great difference in one's calculations."
"How fur off is the Gulf of Mexico?" he asked.
"About a couple of thousand miles."
"Oh, a couple of thousand miles. Well, an' what reckoning do you get out o' that?"
"Suppose you put the ship's pace down at thirteen knots an hour?"