CHAPTER XIII.
THE long-boat was, at this moment, a hundred miles to windward of the cutter.
The fact is that Wylie, the evening before, had been secretly perplexed as to the best course.

He had decided to run for the island; but he was not easy under his own decision; and, at night, he got more and more discontented with it.

Finally, at nine o'clock P.M., he suddenly gave the order to luff, and tack; and by daybreak he was very near the place where the _Proserpine_ went down, whereas the cutter, having run before the wind all night, was, at least, a hundred miles to leeward of him.
Not to deceive the reader, or let him, for a moment, think we do business in monsters, we will weigh this act of Wylie's justly.
It was just a piece of iron egotism.

He preferred, for himself, the chance of being picked up by a vessel.

He thought it was about a hair's breadth better than running for an island, as to whose bearing he was not very clear, after all.
But he was not sure he was taking the best or safest course.