Mark sat by the mast, both of them on the windward side, so as to trim the boat by their weight and make her stiffer. He was to work the foresail if they had to tack, or let down the mainsail if a white squall or a tornado struck the ship. The ripples kissed the bow with a merry smack, smack, smack; sometimes there was a rush of bubbles, and they could feel the boat heel a little as the wind for a moment blew harder. “How fast we’re going!” said Mark. “Hurrah!” “Listen to the bubbles? Don’t the sails look jolly?” said Bevis. The sunshine shone on the white canvas hollowed out by the wind; as the pilot looked up he could see the slender top of the mast tracing a line under the azure sky. Is there anything so delicious as the first sail in your own boat that you have rigged yourself? Away she slipped, and Mark began to hum, knocking the seat with his knuckles to keep time. Then Bevis sang, making a tune of his own, leaning back and watching the sails with the sheet handy to let go if a puff came, for were they not voyaging on unknown seas? Bevis sang the same two verses over and over:-- “Telling how the Count Arnaldos, With his hawk upon his hand, Saw a fair and stately galley, Steering onward to the land. “‘Wouldst thou,’ so the helmsman answer’d ‘Learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers, Comprehend its mystery!’” Mark sang with him, till by-and-by he said, “There’s the battlefield; what country’s that?” “Thessaly,” said Bevis. “It’s the last land we know; now it’s all new, and nobody knows anything.” “Except us.” “Of course.” “Are you going all round or straight up?” said Mark presently, as they came near Fir-Tree Gulf. “We ought to coast,” said Bevis. “They used to; we mustn’t go out of sight of land.” “Steer into the gulf then; mind the stony point; what’s that, what’s the name?” “I don’t know,” said Bevis. “It’s a dreadful place; awful rocks--smash, crash, ship’s side stove in--no chance for any body to escape there.” “A raft would be smashed.” “Lifeboats swamped.” “People jammed on the rocks.” “Pounded into jelly-fish.” “But it ought to have a name? Is it Cape Horn?” “I don’t think so, that’s the other way round the world; we’re more the India way, I think.” “Perhaps it’s Gibraltar.” “As if we shouldn’t know Gibraltar!” “Of course we should, I forgot. Look! There’s a little island and a passage--a channel. Mind how you steer--” “It’s Scylla and Charybdis,” said Bevis. “I can see quite plain.” “Steer straight,” said Mark. “There’s not much room, rocks one side, shoal the other; it’s not a pistol-shot wide--” “Not half a pistol-shot.” “We’re going. Hark! bubbles!” Volume Two, Chapter VII. SAILING CONTINUED--“THERE SHE LAY, ALL THE DAY!” Bevis had eased off, and the boat was sailing right before the wind, which blew direct into the gulf. Mark crawled up more into the bow to see better and shout directions to the pilot. “Left--left.” “Port.”