“Now take the helm again,” said Gascoigne; “I’m on the sick list.”
“And as surgeon—I’m an idler,” replied Jack; “but what shall we do?” continued he; “abandon the speronare at night and sink her, or run in for a town?”
“We shall fall in with plenty of boats and vessels, if we coast it up to Palermo, and they may overhaul us.”
“We shall fall in with plenty of people if we go on shore, and they will overhaul us.”
“Do you know, Jack, that I wish we were back and alongside of the Harpy; I’ve had cruising enough.”
“My cruises are so unfortunate,” replied Jack; “they are too full of adventure; but then, I have never yet had a cruise on shore. Now, if we could only get to Palermo, we should be out of all our difficulties.”
“The breeze freshens, Jack,” replied Gascoigne; “and it begins to look very dirty to windward. I think we shall have a gale.”
“Pleasant—I know what it is to be short-handed in a gale; however, there’s one comfort, we shall not be blown off shore this time.”
“No, but we may be wrecked on a lee shore. She cannot carry her whole sail, Easy; we must lower it down, and take in a reef; the sooner the better, for it will be dark in an hour. Go forward and lower it down, and then I’ll help you.”
Jack did so, but the sail went into the water, and he could not drag it in.
“Avast heaving,” said Gascoigne, “till I throw her up and take the wind out of it.”
This was done; they reefed the sail, but could not hoist it up: if Gascoigne left the helm to help Jack, the sail filled; if he went to the helm and took the wind out of the sail, Jack was not strong enough to hoist it. The wind increased rapidly, and the sea got up; the sun went down, and with the sail half hoisted, they could not keep to the wind, but were obliged to run right for the land. The speronare flew, rising on the crest of the waves with half her keel clear of the water: the moon was already up, and gave them light enough to perceive that they were not five miles from the coast, which was lined with foam.
“At all events, they can’t accuse us of running away with the boat,” observed Jack; “for she’s running away with us.”
“Yes,” replied Gascoigne, dragging at the tiller with all his strength; “she has taken the bit between her teeth.”
“I wouldn’t care if I had a bit between mine,” replied Jack; “for I feel devilish hungry again. What do you say, Ned?”
“With all my heart,” replied Gascoigne; “but, do you know, Easy, it may be the last meal we ever make.”
“Then I vote it’s a good one—but why so, Ned?”
“In half an hour, or thereabouts, we shall be on shore.”
“Well, that’s where we want to go.”
“Yes, but the sea runs high, and the boat may be dashed to pieces on the rocks.”
“Then we shall be asked no questions about her or the men.”