"Why, my dear chap, we really can't indulge in the extreme niceties of
navigation. We've got a compass, which is fairly accurate if you joggle
it with your finger occasionally, and we can fix up a lead line when we
get in soundings, and I dare say we can make a log. D'you mind having a
spell at the pump now? I'm a bit out of condition."
The leaking decreased as the planking swelled to the wet, but other
unpleasantnesses began to show themselves. One of the greatest, to my
way of thinking, was the way we were victualled. To begin with, there
were twenty-three bottles of vermouth, straw-jacketed, and carefully
stowed. Then there was a bag of condemned sea-biscuits, which Haigh
pleasantly alluded to as "perambulators." And the list of solids was
completed by half a dozen four-pound tins of corned beef, and a hundred
and fifty excellent cigars which had not paid duty. There was an iron
tank full of rusty water which "had to do," as refilling it might have
entailed awkward questions. And, lastly, there had been brought on
board a very small and much-corroded kedge anchor, which, as it was the
only implement of its kind that we possessed, gave much force to
Haigh's comment that "it might come in handy."
To tell the truth, when the cold sea air blew away the glamour of
plotting and planning, and I was able to tot up all these accessories
with a practical mind, I was beginning very much to wish myself well
off what seemed a certain road to Jones.
Haigh, on the other hand, seemed supremely contented and happy.
Yachting as a general thing, he said, he found slow; but this cruise
had an element of novelty which made it vastly entertaining. He had
never heard of any one deliberately getting to sea quite under such
circumstances before. He didn't uphold the wisdom of the proceeding in
the least, for when I grunted something about the world not containing
such another pair of thorough-paced fools, he agreed with me promptly.
In fact, he was in far too jovial a humour to argue about anything, and
by degrees I began to fall in with his vein. "Let's split a bottle of
vermouth," said he, "and drink confusion to every one except our two
selves." And we did it.
The breeze lulled at daybreak, and northed till we had it nearly fair.
"This is great business," said Haigh. "I'll bet you five hundred pounds
that we make the islands in the next twenty-four hours. I.O.U.'s
accepted." He slipped off the after-hatch, and dragged up from the
counter a venerable relic of a spinnaker, which was one vivid mottle of
mildew. The sail was duly mocked and set. The wind was freshening, and
our pace increased. The cutter and her parasitical escort kicked up
enough wake for a Cardiff ore-steamer.
"Who says a foul bottom matters now?" said Haigh. "Who will suggest
that she isn't kicking past this scenery at nine knots? Bless the ugly
lines of her, we mustn't forget her builder's health. Hand up another
bottle of that vermouth and the dipper."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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