“At all events, they can’t accuse us of running away with the boat,” observed Jack; “for she’s running away with us.”
“Yes,” replied Gascoigne, dragging at the tiller with all his strength; “she has taken the bit between her teeth.”
“I wouldn’t care if I had a bit between mine,” replied Jack; “for I feel devilish hungry again. What do you say, Ned?”
“With all my heart,” replied Gascoigne; “but, do you know, Easy, it may be the last meal we ever make.”
“Then I vote it’s a good one—but why so, Ned?”
“In half an hour, or thereabouts, we shall be on shore.”
“Well, that’s where we want to go.”
“Yes, but the sea runs high, and the boat may be dashed to pieces on the rocks.”
“Then we shall be asked no questions about her or the men.”
“Very true, but a lee shore is no joke; we may be knocked to pieces, as well as the boat—even swimming may not help us. If we could find a cove or sandy beach, we might, perhaps, manage to get on shore.”