“What sort of a craft are we on?” asked Tom.
“A derelict lumber ship, as near as I can make out,” replied Abe. “Them kind floats longest and they’re the very worst sort of derelicts for a ship to hit, for they’re so heavy—almost solid, you might say. This is what the Silver Star hit, I’m almost positive. First we hit her a light blow, and then we sort of fended off. The engines got out of commission, and something went wrong with the steering gear, I guess. Then we fetched up with another whack at it, and that finished us.”
“That’s it,” agreed Joe. “But it ain’t a bad sort of craft to float on when you’ve been wrecked. It’s better than the life-raft.”
“Will it float long?” asked Tom.
“As long as we need it—maybe longer,” spoke Abe, and his voice was rather gloomy.
“Have you any water, and enough food to—to last for some time?” asked Tom.
“Not an awful lot,” murmured Joe. “There’s water enough for four days, maybe, if we don’t take too much, and some tinned meat and biscuits in the case we put on the raft. Why, are you hungry, Tom?”
“No, oh, no, not at all. I was just thinking ahead. There are four of us, counting little Jackie.”
“And he’ll get his share, along with the rest of us, matie,” said Abe quickly. “It’ll be share and share alike, until the last crumb and drop is gone.”
“That’s what,” growled his companion.