“But what are we to do for grub, sir? I feel rather queer as it is.”
“I can purchase some food,” said the Lieutenant, “at the first cottage we come to; only mind, not a word.”
Just then Bill beheld a rabbit, and gave chase; pitched his cap and then his shoes at it, and finally, with exceeding chagrin, saw it dart into a hole.
“Why, Bill, you never dreamt of running down a rabbit; you have burst your trousers.”
Bill cast a rueful glance at a fragment of cloth that fluttered in the wind.
“The beggar carried too much sail, sir. I thought we might roast him over a few sticks.”
“But we are not Indians, Bill, and have not their skill in eliciting fire from two pieces of wood. Here is some twine I found in this jacket; you had better take in that rent you have made.”
Bill sat down; thanks to his chase after the rabbit, he could get off his garments; and, being ingenious, when he had dried, he contrived to lengthen them, and patch them up, and after another hour’s rest they resumed their journey with dry clothes. The sun was exceedingly hot for the time of year, especially amongst the sand-hills.
By this time our travellers were ravenously hungry, having been twenty-four hours without food; all they partook of on board the lugger being wine and brandy. The sand-hills were three miles across from north to south, and appeared to extend for many miles along the coast. From the summit of one, the highest of the group, they obtained a fine clear view of the country beyond, which appeared well wooded and cultivated, with a village spire peeping out from a clump of trees.
“I suppose yonder village is Fecamp,” said our hero; “at least I judge so, from the look I took at the chart on the unlucky day we ran in to cut out that confounded lugger.”