“That’s no good,” said the American sharply. “Bound to say you’d want a rope ten times as long as that one up here, and if you had it no gimcrack of a grapnel like that would take hold of the smooth rock bottom.”
“Well, what else can I do? We seem to be helpless,” said Lynton.
Briscoe replied, in a most determined voice:
“Order out the oars, sir, if you don’t want the boat to be swamped and your bones to be picked by these fiends of fish.”
The men did not wait for orders from their officer, but seized the oars, and the next minute they were pulling with a long, steady, vigorous stroke in the direction the mate steered; but from where Brace sat aft he could see that they were still gliding gradually upward.
It was only too plain to him that this was the case, for he could mark their position by fixing his eyes upon a rock on the farther shore and see that they were first abreast of it and soon after leaving it behind them.
“We’ve got our work cut out here, Mr Lynton,” said the American sternly. “I should change course again, sir, and make a tack in the other direction.” Then, turning to the sailors, he said:
“Stick to your oars, my lads, and pull a steady stroke. No flurry. Be cool.”
“Look here, sir: are you in command of this boat or am I?” cried the second mate, losing his temper in his excitement.
“Neither of us, I reckon,” said the American coolly. “Strikes me no human being is in command of her now. She’s going where the current takes her.”