Then he became quiet again, and it seemed directly after that Bostock said:
“The blacks’ fire’s out, sir, and the stars are beginning to get whitish. Be sunrise in less than an hour. I’ll go and light our fire now, and as soon as the kettle boils I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“Thank you, Bob,” said Carey, huskily. “I shall be glad of that.”
It seemed a long time to one suffering from a parched throat, and the pale light of dawn was beginning to steal in through the broken opening and the cabin ports, when there was the click of a teacup on the deck, and Jackum said softly:
“Cookey make billy boil. Car-ee tea.”
Crash!
Down went the tray with the refreshing cup on the deck, and Bostock thrust his head through the broken light.
“Master Carey, sir, ahoy! Three cheers, and another for luck. If ever there was a sight for sore eyes it’s now. Sail ho, sir, not three mile out, lying just beyond the reef. A small steamer, dear lad, as must ha’ seen the fire last night.”
“Help at last!” panted Carey.
“Ay, my lad, they’ve kept their fires banked up, and the smoke’s pouring out of her funnel and hanging to leeward like a flag.”