Part 49 (1/2)

”I don't see why you should be afraid of her; she can't hurt you.”

”Not hurt me! Why if you've done anything--it's niggle-niggle, niggle-naggle, and she'll play you every nasty trick, and set the Old Moke on to look cross; and then when Jack comes, it's 'Mark, dear Mark,'

and wouldn't you think she was a sweet darling who loved her brother!”

Mark tore off a shaving.

”One thing though,” he added. ”Won't she serve Jack out when he's got her and obliged to have her. As if I didn't know why she wants me to come home. All she wants is to send some letters to him.”

”Postman. I see,” said Bevis.

”But I'll go,” said Mark. ”I'll go and fetch the sails to-morrow. I should like to see the jolly Old Moke; and don't you see? if I take the letters she'll be pleased and get the rifle for us.”

It was exceedingly disrespectful of Mark to speak of his governor as the Old Moke; his actual behaviour was very different to his speech, for in truth he was most attached to his father. The following afternoon Mark walked over and got the sails, and as he had guessed Frances gave him a note for Jack, which he had to deliver that evening. They surprised the donkey; Mark mounted and rode off.

Bevis went on with the mast and the new gaff and bowsprit, and when Mark got back about sunset he had the new mast and rigging fitted up in the shed to see how it looked. The first time they made a mast it took them a long while, but now, having learned exactly how to do it, the second had soon been prepared. The top rose above the beam of the shed, and the mainsail stretched out under the eave.

”Hoist the peak up higher,” said the governor. Being so busy they had not heard him come. ”Hoist it up well, Mark.”

Mark gave another pull at the halyard, and drew the peak, or point of the gaff, up till it stood at a sharp angle.

”The more peak you can get,” said the governor, ”the more leverage the wind has, and the better she will answer the rudder.”

He was almost as interested in their sailing as they were themselves, and had watched them from the bank of the New Sea concealed behind the trees. But he considered it best that they should teach themselves, and find out little by little where they were wrong. Besides which he knew that the greatest pleasure is always obtained from inferior and incomplete instruments. Present a perfect yacht, a beautiful horse, a fine gun, or anything complete to a beginner, and the edge of his enjoyment is dulled with too speedy possession. The best way to learn to ride is on a rough pony, to sail in an open ill-built boat, because by encountering difficulties the learner comes to understand and appreciate the perfect instrument, and to wield or direct it with fifty times more power than if he had been born to the purple.

From the sh.o.r.e the governor had watched them vainly striving to tack, and could but just refrain from pointing out the reason. When he saw them fitting up the enlarged sails and the new mast, he exulted almost as much as they did themselves. ”They will do it,” he said to himself, ”they will do it this time.”

Then to Bevis, ”Pull the mainsail back as far as you can, and don't let it hollow out, not hollow and loose. Keep it taut. It ought be as flat as a board. There--” He turned away abruptly, fearing he had told them too much.

”As flat as a board,” repeated Bevis. ”So I will. But we thought it was best hollow, didn't we?” There was still enough light left to see to step the mast, so they carried the sails and rigging up to the boat, and fitted them the same evening.

Volume Two, Chapter IX.

SAILING CONTINUED--THE PINTA--NEW FORMOSA.

In the morning the wind blew south, coming down the length of the New Sea. Though it was light and steady it brought larger waves than they had yet sailed in, because they had so far to roll. Still they were not half so high as the day of the battle, and came rolling slowly, with only a curl of foam now and then. The sails were set, and as they drifted rather than sailed out of the sheltered harbour, the boat began to rise and fall, to their intense delight.

”Now it's proper sea,” said Mark.

”Keep ready,” said Bevis. ”She's going. We shall be across in two minutes.”

He hauled the mainsheet taut, and kept it as the governor had told him, as flat as a board. Smack! The bow hit a wave, and threw handfuls of water over Mark, who knelt on the ballast forward, ready to work the foresheets. He shouted with joy, ”It's sea, it's real sea!”

Smack! smack! His jacket was streaked and splotched with spray; he pushed his wet hair off his eyes. Sis.h.!.+ sis.h.!.+ with a bubbling hiss the boat bent over, and cut into the waves like a knife. So much more canvas drove her into the breeze, and as she went athwart the waves every third one rose over the windward bow like a fountain, up the spray flew, straight up, and then horizontally on Mark's cheek. There were wide dark patches on the sails where they were already wet.

Bevis felt the tiller press his hand like the reins with a strong fresh horse. It vibrated as the water parted from the rudder behind. The least movement of the tiller changed her course. Instead of having to hold the tiller in such a manner as to keep the boat's head up to the wind, he had now rather to keep her off, she wanted to fly in the face of the breeze, and he had to moderate such ardour. The broad mainsail taut, and flat as a board, strove to drive the bow up to windward.

”Look behind,” said Mark. ”Just see.”

There was a wake of opening bubbles and foam, and the waves for a moment were smoothed by their swift progress. Opposite the harbour the New Sea was wide, and it had always seemed a long way across, but they had hardly looked at the sails and the wake, and listened to the hissing and splas.h.i.+ng, than it was time to tack.

”Ready,” said Bevis. ”Let go.”