“Want to do? Why, write home of course, telling them where we were. We surely could post a letter at the port.”
“No: he’ll never give us a chance.”
“Perhaps not; but we might bribe some one to take the letter.”
“What with? I haven’t a penny, and I don’t believe you have.”
Vince doubled his fists and rested his head upon them.
“I tell you what, then: we only gave our word for one day. We must wait till we are in port, and then swim ashore. Some one would help us.”
“If we could speak Dutch.”
“Oh dear,” said Vince, “how hard it is! But never mind, let’s get away. We might find an English ship there.”
Mike shook his head, and Vince set to work inventing other ways of escaping; but they finally decided that the best way would be to wait till they were in the river or port, and then to try and get off each with an oar to help support them in what might prove to be a longer swim than they could manage.
That evening the weather lifted, and after a couple of hours’ sail they found themselves off a dreary, low-lying shore, upon which a cluster or two of houses was visible, and several windmills—one showing up very large and prominent at the mouth of what seemed to be a good-sized river, whose farther shore they could faintly discern in the failing evening light.