Boston took the wheel and steadied her at northwest by
west--dead before the wind--while the doctor, at his request, brought
the open can of soup and lubricated the wheel-screw with the only
substitute for oil at their command; for the screw worked hard with the
rust of fifty years.
Their improvised sail, pressed steadily on but one side, had held
together, but now, with the first flap as the gale caught it from
another direction, appeared a rent; with the next flap the rag went to
pieces.
"Let her go!" sang out Boston gleefully; "we can steer now. Come here,
Doc, and learn to steer."
The doctor came; and when he left that wheel, three days later, he had
learned. For the wind had blown a continuous gale the whole of this
time, which, with the ugly sea raised as the ship left the lee of the
land, necessitated the presence of both men at the helm. Only
occasionally was there a lull during which one of them could rush below
and return with a can of soup. During one of these lulls Boston had
examined the boat, towing half out of water, and concluded that a short
painter was best with a water-logged boat, had reinforced it with a few
turns of his rope from forward.
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