In the course of half an
hour she worked off till the wind was directly abeam. In another
half hour she was back into the wind. Not until evening did she
manage to get the wind on her port bow; but when she did, she
immediately paid off, accomplished the complete circle in an hour,
and recommenced her morning tactics of trying to get into the wind.
And there is nothing for us to do save hold the poop against the
attack that is never made. Mr. Pike, more from force of habit than
anything else, takes his regular observations and works up the
Elsinore's position. This noon she was eight miles east of
yesterday's position, yet to-day's position, in longitude, was within
a mile of where she was four days ago. On the other hand she
invariably makes nothing at the rate of seven or eight miles a day.
Aloft, the Elsinore is a sad spectacle. All is confusion and
disorder. The sails, unfurled, are a slovenly mess along the yards,
and many loose ends sway dismally to every roll. The only yard that
is loose is the main-yard.
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