"Why, lad, by the look of you we should be running ashore!"
exclaimed my father.
"And so we should be at this moment," said I, "were not the reckoning
out."
Captain Pomery reached out for the paper. "The reckoning is right
enough," said he, after studying it awhile.
"Then on what land, in Heaven's name, are we running?" my father
demanded testily.
"Why, on Corsica," I answered, pointing with my compass's foot as he
bent over the chart. "On Corsica. Where else?"
It wanted between three and four hours of sunset when we made the
landfall and assured ourselves that what appeared so like a low cloud
on the east-north-eastern horizon was indeed the wished-for island.
We fell to discussing our best way to approach it; my father at first
maintaining that the coast would be watched by Genoese vessels, and
therefore we should do wisely to take down sail and wait for
darkness.
Against this, Captain Pomery maintained--
1. That we were carrying a fair wind, and the Lord knew how long
that would hold.
2. That the moon would rise in less than three hours after dark, and
thenceforth we should run almost the same risk of detection as by
daylight.
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