So they all appeared to think, for no one volunteered. Francisco jumped into the boat.
“There is no room for any one but me; and I will row myself on shore,” cried he. “Farewell, my lads! farewell!”
“Stop? not so; he must not have the boat—he may escape from the island,” cried Hawkhurst.
“And why shouldn’t he, poor fellow?” replied the men. “Let him have the boat.”
“Yes—yes, let him have the boat;” and Hawkhurst was again overruled.
“Here, Massa Francisco—here de book.”
“What’s that, sir?” cried Hawkhurst, snatching the book out of Pompey’s hand.
“Him, massa, Bible.” Francisco waited for the book.
“Shove off!” cried Hawkhurst.
“Give me my book, Mr Hawkhurst!”