142 On the trail of vanishing birds 



box in which, in its best days, it had been suspended was now 

 held together in a haphazard way by bits of string tied round and 

 round its exterior. In spite of this makeshift repair job, the various 

 parts of the box kept slipping out of alignment, so that the com- 

 pass dropped, unsupported, into the bottom. It seemed to me a 

 hopeless instrument under the circumstances, but McPhee had a 

 way of fixing it on the unsteady deck, clamped loosely between his 

 large bare feet, that must have worked, for he went on consulting 

 it and called out every shift in the direction of the wind. Reefed 

 down and forced to luff up into the wind every five minutes, be- 

 sides drifting badly as we were, it appeared that any attempt to 

 set a course and stick to it would be impossible, but McPhee 

 continued to make all the headway he could, and seemed to be- 

 lieve we had a chance of at least crossing the deep waters of the 

 Tongue sometime during the night, even though far south of 

 our goal. 



The wind had been veering about between northwest and north, 

 then it moved closer to northeast and shrieked down on us with 

 a voice that was a steady and ominous roar. Herby, having served 

 us our tea, along with some cold and soggy remains of johnnycake, 

 our only meal for many hours, now wrapped both arms around the 

 mast so as to be handy to the halyards. As a particularly vicious 

 gust arose, McPhee would shout almost before it struck us and 

 down would come the big tattered mainsail, Herby yanking at the 

 stubborn hoops like a madman. Then, at a word from McPhee, he 

 would haul it partway up again, just sufficient canvas to keep our 

 head toward the wind. The typical Bahamian sail has no reef 

 points, but is reefed by passing a tricing line under the foot of the 

 sail and hauling at it through a block that is secured to the mast 

 below its head, thus lifting the sail and forming a big V-shaped 

 opening in its middle. This simple device reduces the amount of 

 sail area in a hurry. 



The night advanced and our little company settled down to a 

 cold, wet, and comfortless routine. McPhee squatted on his heels 

 at the tiller, steadied himself by means of a hand on the sheet. 

 Herby clung to the mast, his worn yachting cap twisted on his 

 close-cropped head so that the visor fell over one ear. And I stood 



