Sailing Continued—“There She Lay, All The Day!”
Bevis had eased off, and the boat was sailing right before the wind, which blew direct into the gulf. Mark crawled up more into the bow to see better and shout directions to the pilot.
“Left—left.”
“Port.”
“Well, port.”
“Starboard, now—that side. There, we scraped some weeds.” The weeds made a rustling sound as the boat passed over them.
“Right—right—starboard, that side,” holding out his hand, “you’ll hit the rocks; you’re too close.”
“Pooh!” said Bevis. “It’s deeper under the rocks, don’t you remember.” He prided himself on steering within an inch; the boat glided between the sandy island and the rocky wall, so close to the wall that the sail leaning over the side nearly swept it. Then he steered so as to pass along about three yards from the shore. The quarry opened out, and they went by it on towards the place where they bathed.
“Kails,” said Mark, “mind the rails.” By the bathing-place the posts and rails which were continued into the water were partly under the surface, so that a boat might get fixed on the top. Bevis pushed the tiller over, and the boat came round broadside to the wind, and began to cross the head of Fir-Tree Gulf.
The ripples here increased in size, and became wavelets as the breeze, crossing a wider surface of water, blew straight on shore, and seemed to rush in a stronger draught through the trees. These wavelets were not large enough to make the boat dance, but they caused more splashing at the bow, and she heeled a little to the wind. They slipped across the head of the gulf, some two hundred yards, at a good pace, steering for the mouth of the Nile.
“Tack,” said Bevis, as they came near. “It’s almost time. Get ready.”
Mark unfastened the cord or sheet on the left side, against which the foresail was pulling, and held it in his hand. “I’m ready,” he said, and in a minute,—“Quick, we shall be on shore.”
Bevis pushed the tiller down hard to the left, at the same time telling Mark to let go. Mark loosened the foresheet, and the boat turning to the right was carried by her own impetus and the pressure of the mainsail up towards the wind. Bevis expected her to do as he had seen the yachts and ships at the seaside, and as he had read was the proper way, to come round slowly facing the wind, till just as she passed the straight line as it were of the breeze, Mark would have to tighten the foresheet, and the wind would press on the foresail like a lever and complete the turn.
He watched the foresail eagerly, for the moment to shout to Mark; the boat moved up towards the wind, then paused, hung, and began to fall back again. The wind blew her back. Bevis jammed the tiller down still harder, rose from his seat, bawled, “Mark! Mark!” but he was jerked back in a moment as she took the ground.
Mark seized a scull to push her off, when letting go the sheet the foresail flapped furiously, drawing the cord or rope through the staple as if it would snap it. Bevis, fearing the boat would turn over, let go the mainsheet, and then the mainsail flew over the left side, flapping and shaking the mast, while the sheet or rope struck the water and splashed it as if it were hit with a whip.
“Pull down the mainsail,” shouted Bevis, stumbling forward.
“Hold tight,” shouted Mark, giving a great shove with the scull. The boat came off, and Bevis was thrown down on the ballast. The wind took her before they could scramble into their places, and she drifted across the mouth of the Nile and grounded again.
“Down with the sail, I tell you,” shouted Bevis in a rage. “Not that one—the big one.”
Mark undid the cord or halyard, and down fell the mainsail into the boat, covering Bevis, who had to get out from under it before he could do anything.
“Did you ever see such a bother?” said Mark.
“Is anything broken?” said Bevis.
“No. You ought to have tacked sooner.”
“How could I tell? She wouldn’t come round.”
“You ought to have had room to try twice.”
“So we will next time.”
“Let’s go up the Nile and turn round, and get the sails up there,” said Mark. “It will be such a flapping here.”
Bevis agreed, and they pushed the boat along with the sculls a few yards up the Nile which was quite smooth there, while at the mouth the quick wavelets dashed against the shore. The bank of the river and the trees on it sheltered them while they turned the boat’s head round, and carefully set the sails for another trial.
“We’ll have two tries this time,” said Bevis, “and we’re sure to do it. If we can’t tack, it’s no use sailing.”
When everything was ready, Mark rowed a few strokes with one oar till the wind began to fill the sails; then he shipped it, and sat down on the ballast on the windward side. The moment she was outside the Nile the splashing began, and Mark, to his great delight, felt a little spray in his face. “This is real sailing,” he said.
“Now we’re going,” said Bevis, as the boat increased her speed. “Lot’s see how much we can gain on this tack.” He kept her as close to the wind as he could, but so as still to have the sails well filled and drawing. He let the mainsail hollow out somewhat, thinking that it would hold the wind more and draw them faster.
“Hurrah!” said Mark; “we’re getting a good way up; there’s the big sarsen—we shall get up to it.”
There was a large sarsen or boulder, a great brown stone, lying on the shore on the quarry side of the gulf, about thirty yards above the bathing-place. If they could get as high up as the boulder, that would mean that in crossing the gulf on that tack they had gained thirty yards in direct course, thirty yards against the wind. To Mark it looked as if they were sailing straight for the boulder, but the boat was not really going in the exact direction her bow pointed.
She inclined to the right, and to have found her actual course he ought to have looked not over the stem but over the lee bow. The lee is the side away from the wind. That is to say, she drifted or made leeway, so that when they got closer they were surprised to see she was not so high up as the boulder by ten yards. She was off a bunch of rushes when Bevis told Mark to be ready. He had allowed space enough this time for two trials.
“Now,” said Bevis, pushing the tiller over to the right; “let go.”
Mark loosened the foresail, that it might not offer any resistance to the wind, and so check the boat from turning.
Bevis pushed the tiller over still harder, and as she had been going at a good pace the impetus made her answer the rudder better.
“She’s coming,” shouted Mark. “Jam the rudder.”
The rudder was jammed, but when the bow seemed just about to face the wind, and another foot would have enabled Mark to tighten the foresail, and let it draw her quite round like a lever, she lost all forward motion.
“O! dear!” said Bevis, stamping with vexation. The boat stopped a moment, and then slowly fell back. “Pull tight,” said Bevis, meaning refasten the foresheet. Mark did so, and the boat began to move ahead again.
“We’re very close,” said Mark almost directly.
“Tack,” said Bevis. “Let go.”
He tried to run her up into the wind again, but this time, having less weigh or impetus, she did not come nearly so far round, but began to pay off, or fall back directly, and, before Mark could get a scull out, bumped heavily against the shore, which was stony there.
“Let’s row her head round,” said Mark.
“Sculls ought not to be used,” said Bevis. “It’s lubberly.”
“Awful lubberly,” said Mark. “But what are we to do?”
“Pull away, anyhow,” said Bevis.
Mark put out the scull, pushed her off, and after some trouble pulled till her head came round. Then he shipped the scull, and they began to sail again.
“We haven’t got an inch,” said Bevis. “Just look; there are the rails.”
They had made about twenty yards, but in missing stays twice, drifting, and rowing round, had lost it all before the boat could get right again, before the sails began to draw well.
“What ever is it?” said Mark. “What is it we don’t do?”
“I can’t think,” said Bevis. “It’s very stupid. That’s better.”
There was a hissing and bubbling, and the boat, impelled by a stronger puff, rushed along, and seemed to edge a way up into the wind.
“Splendid,” said Mark. “We shall get above the Nile this time, we shall get to the willow.”
A willow-tree stood on the shore that side some way up. The boat appeared to move direct for it.
“I shall tack soon,” said Bevis, “while we’ve got a good wind.”
“Tack now,” said Mark. “It doesn’t matter about going right across.”
“All right—now; let go.”
They tried again, just the same; the boat paused and came back: then again, and still it was of no use.
“Row,” said Bevis. “Bother!”
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 found, 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.”
Mark took the foresail down, and the boat did show some disposition to run up into the wind; but when Bevis tried to tack she went half-way, and then payed off and came back, and they nearly ran on the railings, so much did they drift. Still they tried without the foresail again; the boat they found did not sail so fast, and it was not the least use, she would not come round. So they re-set the foresail. Again and again they sailed to and fro, from the shore just above the Nile to the bunch of rushes, and never gained a foot, or if they did one way they lost it the other. They were silent for some time.
“It’s like the Bay of Biscay,” said Mark.
“‘There she lay, all the day,
In the Bay of Biscay, O!’
“And the sails look so jolly too.”
“I can’t make it out,” said Bevis. “The sails are all proper, I’m sure they are. What can it be? We shall never get out of the gulf.”
“And after all the rowing round too,” said Mark. “Lubberly.”
“Horrid,” said Bevis. “I hope there’s no other ship about looking at us. The sailors would laugh so. I know—Mark!”
“Yes.”
“Don’t row next time; we’ll wear ship.”
“What’s that?”
“Turn the other way—with the wind. Very often the boom knocks you over or tears the mast out.”
“Capital, only we’ve no boom. What must I do?”
“Nothing; you’ll see. Sit still—in the middle. Now.”
Bevis put the tiller over to windward. The boat paid off rapidly to leeward, and described a circle, the mainsail passing over to the opposite side, and as it took the wind giving a jerk to the mast.
Mark tightened the other foresheet, and they began to sail back again.
“But just look!” said he.
“Horrid,” said Bevis.
In describing the circle they had lost not only what they had gained, but were level with the mouth of the Nile, and not five yards from the shore at the head of the gulf. It was as much this tack as they could do to get above the railings; they were fifteen yards at least below the rushes, when Bevis put the tiller up to windward, and tried the same thing again. The boat turned a circle to leeward, and before she could get right round and begin to sail again, they had gone so near the shore, drifting, that Mark had to put out the scull in case they should bump. In crossing this time the wind blew so light that they could not get above the mouth of the Nile.
“It’s no use wearing ship,” said Mark.
“Not a bit; we lose more than ever. You’d better row again,” said Bevis reluctantly.
Mark pulled her round again, and they sailed to and fro three times more, but did but keep their position, for the wind was perceptibly less as the day went on, and it became near noon.
“I hate those rushes,” said Mark, as he pulled her head round once more.
Bevis did not reply, but this time he steered straight across to the Nile and up it till the bank sheltered them from the wind. There they took down the sails, quite beaten, for that day at least, and rowed back to harbour.
Next morning when they arrived at the New Sea they found that the wind came more down the water, having turned a little to the south, but it was the same in force. They started again, and sailed very well till they were opposite the hollow oak in which on the day of battle it was supposed Bevis had hidden. Here the wind was a head-wind, against which they could only work by tacking, and when they came to tack they found just the same difficulty as yesterday.
All the space they gained during the tack was lost in coming round before the boat could get weigh on her. They sailed to and fro from the hollow oak to some willow bushes on the other side, and could not advance farther. Sometimes they got above the oak, but then they fell back behind the willow bushes; sometimes they worked up twenty yards higher than the willow bushes, but dropped below the oak.
Bevis soon discovered why they made better tacks now and then; it was because the wind shifted a little, and did not so directly oppose them. The instant it returned to its usual course they could not progress up the sea. By the willow bushes they could partly see into Fir-Tree Gulf; yesterday they could not sail out of the gulf, and to-day, with all their efforts, they could not sail into it.
After about twenty trials they were compelled to own that they were beaten, and returned to harbour. Bevis was very much troubled with this failure, and as soon as they had got home he asked Mark to go up in the bench-room, or do anything he liked, and leave him by himself while he looked at the old encyclopaedia.
Mark did as he was asked, knowing that Bevis always learnt anything best by himself. Bevis went up into the bedroom, where the great book remained open on the chair, knelt down, and set to work to read everything there was in it on ships and navigation. There was the whole history of boats and ships, from the papyrus canoes of the Nile, made by plaiting the stalks, the earthenware boats, hide boats, rafts or skins, hollowed trees, bark canoes, catamarans, and proas. There was an account of the triremes of Rome, and on down to the caravels, bilanders, galliots, zebecs, and great three-deckers. The book did not quite reach to the days of glorious Nelson.
It laid down the course supposed to have been followed by Ulysses, and described the voyages of the Phoenicians to Britain. The parts of a three-decker were pictured, and the instruments of navigation were explained with illustrations. Everything was there except what Bevis wanted, for in all this exhaustive and really interesting treatise, there were no plain directions how to tack.
There were the terms and the very orders in nautical language, but no explanation as to how it was done. Bevis shut the book up, and rose with a sigh, for he had become so occupied with his search that he had unconsciously checked his breathing. He went down to the bookcase and stood before it thoughtfully. Presently he recollected that there was something about yachting in a modern book of sports. He found it and read it carefully, but though it began about Daedalus, and finished with the exact measurement of a successful prize-winning yacht, he could not make out what he wanted.
The account was complete even to the wages of the seamen and the method of signalling with flags. There was a glossary of terms, but nothing to tell him how to tack, that is, nothing that he could understand. He put the book away, and went out into the blue-painted summer-house to think it over again.
What you really want to know is never in a book, and no one can tell you. By-and-by, if you keep it steadily in memory and ever have your eyes open, you hit on it by accident. Some mere casual incident throws the solution right into your hands at an unexpected moment.
Bevis had fitted up his boat according to his recollections of those he had seen in the pictures.
There was no sailing-boat that he could go and see nearer than forty miles. As he sat thinking it over Mark rushed up. He, too, had been thinking, and he had found something.
“I know,” he said.
“What?”
“We have not got enough ballast,” said Mark. “That’s it—I’m sure that’s it. Don’t you remember how the boat kept drifting?”
“Very likely,” said Bevis. “Yes, that’s it; how stupid we were. Let’s get some more directly. I know; I’ll ask the governor for a bag of shot.”
The governor allowed them to take the bag, which weighed twenty-eight pounds, on condition that they put it inside a small sack, so as to look like sand, else some one might steal it. They also found two pieces of iron, scraps, which made up the fresh ballast to about forty pounds. The wind had now gone down as it did soon after midday, and they could do nothing.
But next morning it blew again from the south, and they were afloat directly after breakfast. The effect of the ballast was as Mark had anticipated; the boat did not drift so much, she made less leeway, and she was stiffer, that is, she stood up to the wind better. They did not lose so much quite, but still they did not gain, nor would she come round without using a scull; indeed, she was even worse in this respect, and more obstinate, she would not come up into the wind, the weight seemed to hold her back.
After two hours they were obliged to give it up for the third time. The following day there was no wind. “Let’s make the anchor,” said Mark, “and while we’re making the anchor perhaps we shall think of something about tacking.”
So they began to make the anchor, after the picture of one in the old folio. They found a square piece of deal, it was six inches by four, and sawed off about two feet. In the middle they cut a long hole right through, and after much trouble found a flat stone to fit it. This was wedged in tight, and further fastened with tar-cord. Near one end a small square hole was cut, and through this they put a square rod of iron, which the blacksmith sold them for a shilling—about three times its value.
The rod was eighteen inches long, and when it was through it was bent up, or curved, and the ends filed to a blunt point. It fitted tight, but they wedged it still firmer with nails, and it was put the opposite way to the stone, so that when the stone tried to sink flat on the bottom, one or other of the points of the bar would stick in the ground. Mark thought there ought to be a cross-piece of wood or iron as there is in proper anchors, but so far as they could make out, this was not attached to the ancient stone-weighted ones, and so they did not put it.
Lastly, a hole was bored at the other end of the shaft, and the rope or cable (a stout cord) inserted and fastened. Looking eagerly out of window in the morning to see if there was a wind they were delighted to see the clouds drifting from the north-north-west. This was a capital wind for them as they could not tack. It was about the same that had been blowing the first day when they sailed into Fir-Tree Gulf and could not get out, but it would have taken them to the very end of the New Sea had they not considered it proper to coast round. This time they meant to sail straight up the centre and straight back.