Explore "The Mutiny of the Elsinore" by Jack London on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Four more days have passed; the gale has blown itself out; we are not more than three hundred and fifty miles off Valparaiso; and the _Elsinore_, this time due to me and my own stubbornness, is rolling in the wind and heading nowhere in a light breeze at the rate of nothing but driftage per hour.
In the height of the gusts, in the three days and nights of the gale, we logged as much as eight, and even nine, knots. What bothered me was the acquiescence of the mutineers in my programme. They were sensible enough in the simple matter of geography to know what I was doing. They had control of the sails, and yet they permitted me to run for the South American coast.