I pulled up three or four of the
bottom boards, got a couple of buckets from a locker, and by
unmistakable sign-language invited them to fall to. But they
laughed, and some crowded into the cabin and some climbed up on
top.
Their laughter was not good laughter. There was a hint of menace
in it, a maliciousness which their black looks verified. The
Yellow Handkerchief, since his discovery of my empty pocket, had
become most insolent in his bearing, and he wormed about among the
other prisoners, talking to them with great earnestness.
Swallowing my chagrin, I stepped down into the cockpit and began
throwing out the water. But hardly had I begun, when the boom
swung overhead, the mainsail filled with a jerk, and the Reindeer
heeled over. The day wind was springing up. George was the
veriest of landlubbers, so I was forced to give over bailing and
take the tiller. The wind was blowing directly off Point Pedro and
the high mountains behind, and because of this was squally and
uncertain, half the time bellying the canvas out and the other half
flapping it idly.
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