She inclined to the right, and to have found her actual course he ought to have looked not over the stem but over the lee bow. The lee is the side away from the wind. That is to say, she drifted or made leeway, so that when they got closer they were surprised to see she was not so high up as the boulder by ten yards. She was off a bunch of rushes when Bevis told Mark to be ready. He had allowed space enough this time for two trials. “Now,” said Bevis, pushing the tiller over to the right; “let go.” Mark loosened the foresail, that it might not offer any resistance to the wind, and so check the boat from turning. Bevis pushed the tiller over still harder, and as she had been going at a good pace the impetus made her answer the rudder better. “She’s coming,” shouted Mark. “Jam the rudder.” The rudder was jammed, but when the bow seemed just about to face the wind, and another foot would have enabled Mark to tighten the foresail, and let it draw her quite round like a lever, she lost all forward motion. “O! dear!” said Bevis, stamping with vexation. The boat stopped a moment, and then slowly fell back. “Pull tight,” said Bevis, meaning refasten the foresheet. Mark did so, and the boat began to move ahead again. “We’re very close,” said Mark almost directly. “Tack,” said Bevis. “Let go.” He tried to run her up into the wind again, but this time, having less weigh or impetus, she did not come nearly so far round, but began to pay off, or fall back directly, and, before Mark could get a scull out, bumped heavily against the shore, which was stony there. “Let’s row her head round,” said Mark. “Sculls ought not to be used,” said Bevis. “It’s lubberly.” “Awful lubberly,” said Mark. “But what are we to do?” “Pull away, anyhow,” said Bevis. Mark put out the scull, pushed her off, and after some trouble pulled till her head came round. Then he shipped the scull, and they began to sail again. “We haven’t got an inch,” said Bevis. “Just look; there are the rails.” They had made about twenty yards, but in missing stays twice, drifting, and rowing round, had lost it all before the boat could get right again, before the sails began to draw well. “What ever is it?” said Mark. “What is it we don’t do?” “I can’t think,” said Bevis. “It’s very stupid. That’s better.” There was a hissing and bubbling, and the boat, impelled by a stronger puff, rushed along, and seemed to edge a way up into the wind. “Splendid,” said Mark. “We shall get above the Nile this time, we shall get to the willow.” A willow-tree stood on the shore that side some way up. The boat appeared to move direct for it. “I shall tack soon,” said Bevis, “while we’ve got a good wind.” “Tack now,” said Mark. “It doesn’t matter about going right across.” “All right--now; let go.” They tried again, just the same; the boat paused and came back: then again, and still it was of no use. “Row,” said Bevis. “Bother!”