“Yes: it’s horrible,” cried Murray. “Halt! Now, all together, shout with me, ‘Seafowl ahoy!’”
The men shouted, and then again, three times, but elicited no reply, and the roar and crackle of the blazing forest seemed to increase.
“Here, which of you can make out where the river lies?” cried Murray.
“Not me, sir,” grumbled one of the men out of the stifling smoke, “or I’d soon be into it!”
“Here, once more. I don’t think we have tried this way,” cried Murray, almost in despair. “Look, Tom May, this does look a little lighter, doesn’t it?—No,” continued the lad huskily, and without waiting for the able-seaman’s reply. “Here, try this way, for the flames seem to be mounting higher there. Keep up your pluck, my lads, and follow me. Are you all there?”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the sailor. “We’re all here, arn’t we, messmates?”
“Ay, ay!” came in a deep growl.
“Then follow me close,” said Murray. “Everything depends upon your keeping together.”
“Oh, we’ll keep together, sir,” said May. “Won’t we, messmates?”
“Ay, ay!” said another of the men. “But I don’t quite like this here job.”