Part 7 (2/2)
”No; you don't know anything about it. The boat is almost full of water, and we shall sink to the bottom.”
”I tell you she is doing very well. Pooh! that wasn't anything! She often takes in the water like that.”
”What shall we do?” moaned Kate.
This was a question which appealed even to f.a.n.n.y's prudence. Without answering in words, she let go the halliards, and hauled down the foresail. After the boat came about, she had not righted the helm, and the Greyhound had been thrown up into the wind as she heeled over and took in the flood of water. She now lay with her sails flapping, and f.a.n.n.y cast off the main-sheet, rather to stop the fluttering than to avoid further peril. Fortunately, this was the proper course to pursue.
”What shall we do?” repeated Kate, expecting every moment that the treacherous sails would carry them over again, and that they would soon find their way to the bottom of the river.
”Bale out the water,” replied f.a.n.n.y, taking a pail and a dipper from the cuddy forward. ”Now go to work, and we shall soon be ready to sail again.”
”I don't want to sail any more,” whined Kate.
”Dip away as fast as ever you can. Don't stop to talk about it now.”
f.a.n.n.y took the pail herself, and gave the dipper to Kate, and both of them went to work with a zeal which promised soon to free the Greyhound from the burden under which she was laboring. There was a large quant.i.ty of water in the boat, and the process of dipping it out was very slow. f.a.n.n.y was afraid that this accident would throw her into the power of her great enemy, the constable; and this was the only fear which troubled her. The perils of the mighty river had no terrors to her while she had a plank under her feet.
Kate was utterly disconsolate and hopeless, and f.a.n.n.y was obliged to use all her ingenuity to keep her in working condition. To show her confidence, she sang like a nightingale, as she dipped out the water; and f.a.n.n.y was an excellent singer. She labored hard to prove to her desponding companion that there was no danger, and at last she succeeded in restoring Kate to a tolerable degree of self-possession.
When about half the water had been dipped out, f.a.n.n.y trimmed the sails, and headed the boat down the river, to the utter consternation of her timid a.s.sociate, who was heartily sick of the adventure, and longed to put her feet on the dry land again.
”Now, Kate, you take the pail, and I will use the dipper; I can work and steer the boat at the same time,” said f.a.n.n.y, when the Greyhound was under headway again.
”The boat is going down the river, f.a.n.n.y!” exclaimed Kate, as she took the pail.
”Of course she is,” replied the bold skipper. ”Where did you expect her to go?”
”But you are not going any farther--are you?”
”To be sure I am. Do you think I am going to back out now?”
”We shall certainly be drowned!”
”Nonsense!”
”I don't want to go any farther,” moaned Kate, who felt like one going to execution.
”I can't help it if you don't. I'm going down to Pennville,” answered f.a.n.n.y, still dipping up the water from the bottom of the boat.
”I won't bale out any more then,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Kate, as she dropped the pail, and looked as though she actually meant what she said.
”Very well; then I won't,” added f.a.n.n.y, throwing down the dipper.
”If you will go back, I will bale out the water as hard as ever I can.”
”But I will not go back,” replied f.a.n.n.y, firmly. ”Do you think I am going home to be shut up for a week, or sent back to my uncle, without having any fun at all? If you won't bale, I won't. I guess I can stand it as long as you can.”
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