"This is better than being linked to somebody else," said the youth to his old sailor friend. "Not but that we got along well enough together," he added, hastily.
"You're right—there wasn't no sense in joinin' us together," answered Luke. "We can't git away if we want to."
"We might, if we didn't have our hands chained, Luke."
"How?"
"If we all got together some night—providing we could keep out of the pen—and stole one of the small boats."
"Easier said nor done. The guard would ketch ye an' shoot ye down like a dog."
"Oh, I know there would be a great risk. But I hate to think of going to a Siberian prison, or aboard a Russian prison ship."
"So do I, Larry. But even if we stole the boat and got away, where would we go to,—especially if we didn't have much provisions an' water?"
Larry could not answer that question, since he did not know the location of the Pocastra. It might be that they were hundreds of miles from land. If so, to take to a small boat with a scarcity of water and provisions would certainly be foolhardy.
The fog continued during the night, but swept away as if by magic about nine o'clock in the morning. At that time the prisoners had had their breakfast and Larry and Luke were between decks, looking at some gunners' assistants cleaning out one of the large guns.