“Ahoy!” yelled Wriggs again, and Smith followed his example after turning his back to the two young men.
A minute later Drew came into sight, and then Mr Rimmer, and somehow, he, too, seemed to be affected like Drew and Panton, for he could only shake hands and try to speak, but not a word came.
“Lost all my wind,” he cried, at last, but in a husky, choky voice. “All right now, and jolly glad to see you again, sir. Hang it, what’s the matter with my throat? I know: it’s those nuts I picked as we came along. Phew! how hot it is.”
“Lane, old chap,” whispered Panton, “we thought you’d left us in the lurch.”
“That we did,” said Drew, blinking his eyes, and then blowing his nose very loudly. “But, I say, are you all right!”
“Yes, only stiff and very hungry.”
“Hungry?” cried the mate. “Hi! who’s got the prog bag?”
“Them two’s got it, sir,” said Wriggs. “Here they come.” As he spoke a couple more men came into sight, and deferring all farther questioning till Lane’s hunger had been appeased, they descended to where the nearest water trickled amongst the rocks, and were soon all seated enjoying an al fresco meal, the rugged lava forming table and chairs, and the abundant growth of ferns giving a charm to the verdant nook, and sheltering them from the sun.
“Well, all I can say is,” cried the mate, “that you’ve had a very narrow escape, sir, and, thank heaven, we’re all here to tell you so, for there were moments when I thought that it was all over with us. But, phew! how hot it is.”
“Yes,” said Panton, “a steamy heat. We ought to be getting back to the boat. It will be cooler towards the sea. What’s the matter, Drew?”