Mark rowed with a scull out on the lee side, and got her round. “Now, just look,” said Bevis. “Just look!” He pointed at the Nile. They had drifted so that when they at last turned they were nearly level with the mouth of the river from which they had started. “Let me row quicker next time,” said Mark. “Let me row directly. It’s hateful, though.” “It’s hateful,” said Bevis. “Sailing without tacking is stupid. Nobody would ever think we were sailors to see us rowing round.” “What’s to be done?” said Mark. “Now try.” Bevis put the tiller down, and Mark pulled her head round as quick as he could. By the time the sails had begun to draw they had lost more than half they had gained, and in crossing as the breeze slackened a little lost the rest, and found themselves as before, just off the mouth of the Nile. “I don’t think you keep her up tight enough,” said Mark, as they began to cross again. “Try her closer. Close-hauled, you know.” “So I will,” said Bevis; and the breeze rising again he pulled the mainsheet tighter (while Mark tightened the foresheet), and pushed the tiller over somewhat. The boat came closer to the wind, and seemed now to be sailing straight for the quarry. “There,” said Mark, “we shall get out of the gulf in two tacks.” “But we’re going very slow,” said Bevis. “It doesn’t matter if we get to the quarry.” The boat continued to point at the quarry, and Bevis watched the mainsail intently, with his hand on the tiller, keeping her so that the sail should not shiver, and yet should be as near to it as possible. “Splendid,” said Mark, on his knees on the ballast, looking over the stem. “Splendid. It’s almost time to tack.” He lifted the foresail, and peered under it at the shore. “I say--well, Bevis!” “What is it?” asked Bevis. “I’m watching the mainsail; is it time?” “We haven’t got an inch--we’re going--let’s see--not so far up as the rushes.” All the while the boat’s head pointed at the quarry she had been making great leeway, drifting with the wind and waves. The sails scarcely drew, and she had no motion to cut her way into the wind. Instead of edging up into it, she really crossed the gulf in nearly a straight line, almost level with the spot whence she started. When Bevis tried to get her round, she would not come at all. She was moving so slowly she had no impetus, and the wind blew her back. Mark had to row round again. “That’s no use,” he said. “But it looked as if it was.” “She won’t sail very near the wind,” said Bevis, as they crossed again towards the Nile. “We must let her run free, and keep the sails hollow.” They crossed and crossed five times more, and still came only just above the mouth of the Nile, and back to the bunch of rushes. “I believe it’s the jib,” said Bevis, as they sailed for the quarry side once more. “Let’s try without the jib. Perhaps it’s the jib won’t let her come round. Take it down.”