Fett concluded.
We spent the next half-hour in dragging the gun aft, and fetching up
from the hold a dozen basket-loads of stone. It required a personal
appeal from my father before old Worthyvale would part with so much
of his treasure.
During twenty minutes of this time, the xebec, having picked up with
the stronger breeze, had been shortening her distance (as Captain
Pomery put it) hand-over-fist. But no sooner had we loaded the
little gun and trained her ready for use, than my father, pausing to
mop his brow, cried out that the Moor was losing her breeze again.
She perceptibly slackened way, and before long the water astern of
her ceased to be ruffled. An oily calm spreading across the sea from
shoreward overhauled her by degrees, overtook, and held her, with
sails idle and sheets tautening and sagging as she rolled on the
heave of the swell.
Captain Pomery promptly checked our rejoicing, telling us this was
about the worst that could happen. "We shall carry this wind for
another ten minutes at the most," he assured us. "And these devils
have boats."
So it proved.
Pages:
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231